


Thursday's Child

by wyntereyez



Series: Not Flesh Nor Feathers [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Godstiel - Freeform, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Nephilim, Thingstiel, abnosome ficcage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 65,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntereyez/pseuds/wyntereyez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel brings a surprise home to Dean.  It’s gooey.  And has tentacles.  Kid!fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Thing in the Box

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: : References to past mpreg (I can’t believe I’m doing this…), discussion of the smiting of a Nephil baby, some language, chapter is far more angsty than I was planning because apparently I can’t do crack without giving it a little substance, first.
> 
> I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve never had any desire to ever write anything of an mpreg-ish nature, and yet, here I am. Arguments could be made that this isn’t one in the traditional sense, but still… And not only that, I was trying for something cracky and utterly ridiculous, and it came out more angsty and (eventually) schmoopy instead, which resulted in a change of title - originally, it was called the snarkier ‘Another Heartwarming Story In Which Dean and Castiel Reproduce‘. What is wrong with me?! I blame this on having encountered too many fics in which Cas and Dean have a cute little baby with wings. There’s always a little part of me that thinks the product of a union between a flesh-and-blood human and a wavelength of celestial intent the size of the Chrysler Building would be a little bit… messy. And this was born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel gives Dean a tentacled surprise, and the beer is getting warm.

It’s the proverbial dark and stormy night, which is pissing Dean off. The power had gone out several hours before, with no real chance of returning before tomorrow, since all of Sioux Falls is experiencing a blackout and Bobby’s place is too far off the main grid to be a priority. Sam is hoarding his laptop’s battery, so there’s no chance of internet porn. And the beer is getting warm.

At least the half-eaten cherry pie is capable of surviving a night on the counter, even if the ice cream probably won’t make it.

It’s meant to be a weekend with no demons, no ghosts, no worrying about soulless brothers or dealing with stupid angels who betray their friends and work with the king of Hell to open fucking _Purgatory._ There’s supposed to be Chuck Norris movies, pizza, pie, and beer. And porn. Lots of it.

Well, technically, it’s supposed to be a weekend spent researching how to open Purgatory so they know how to prevent Cas from doing it, but Dean’s been so messed up (and, okay, maybe just a little _drunk_ ) because of Cas’ betrayal that he can’t focus, and Sam had ordered him away for being worse than useless. As though it were _his_ fault that beer goggles made his understanding of obscure languages more hopeless than usual.

And then the power had gone out, making research nearly impossible. Many of the books have cramped writing that is difficult to discern by candlelight, and eventually even Sam had given up before he strained his eyes too badly. He’d gone off to bed, leaving Dean alone in the dark with his thoughts. Crap.

So he’d spent the time drinking himself into oblivion. Someone needs to save the beer from getting warm, after all. He’s performing a public service. 

He’s well on his way to unconsciousness when a flash of lightning illuminates the room, momentarily splashing the shadow of outstretched wings against the far wall. It has to be his imagination, since they’d fixed the angel-proofing on the house since Castiel‘s last visit. Still, he slides a hand beneath the couch cushions and wraps his fingers around the hilt of the knife concealed there.

“Dean.” The voice is low, urgent, and immediately jolts Dean into sobriety. Once, the familiar voice would have made him loosen his grip on the weapon, but their newly antagonistic relationship makes him slide the knife free instead, even though it would be useless against the angel.

“What are you doing here, Cas?” Dean asks coolly. So much for angel-proofing. 

“I… I have nowhere else…” His voice sounds absolutely _wrecked,_ and Dean immediately releases the blade and fumbles around for the kerosene lamp he’d left on the table. He lights it and turns towards the angel, his fear for his friend momentarily overwhelming the anger he‘d felt at Castiel‘s deceit.

Cas… looks like crap. He’s somehow more rumpled than usual, which Dean hadn’t thought possible. His skin is sheened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead in curls. The dark rings around his eyes seem deeper, though that could just be a trick of the light, and his wide eyes look slightly glazed. Beneath the trench coat, his blood-splattered shirt is half untucked, and bunched up where Castiel skipped a button, and the hem of the shirt is caught in his pants zipper. His tie is missing entirely.

He’s also holding what looks like a soggy box of McDonalds beef patties. 

“Cas, what - ?” Dean tries again, only this time, he’s worried rather than angry.

“Hold this,” Castiel says, shoving the box into Dean’s hands before vanishing. 

Dean blinks at the spot where Castiel had stood, wondering if he should be waking Sam and breaking out the weapons. But Cas would have warned him if they were in danger, right? Even though he’s working with Crowley, he’s never hesitated to protect the Winchesters. He stands there for a moment holding the dripping box before it occurs to him there must be a reason Castiel wanted him to have it, so he angles the kerosene lamp over the top of it, pulls open the flaps and peers into the box.

Eyes stare back at him. _Lots_ of them. Huge, bulging eyes in blue and green, amber and scarlet, white, black, brown, purple… with round pupils, square pupils, and slitted, all set in a gelatinous red-black mass with quivering protrusions - tentacles, it has freaking _tentacles_ \- and three awkwardly splayed, oversized limbs covered in wet down, like a newborn chick. It also seems to ooze slime, which is why the McDonalds box feels like it’s disintegrating in his arms.

Okay… that is definitely not a quarter pounder patty. Except maybe in Hell.

“What the Hell?” Dean yelps, dropping the box and diving to the couch to grope for the hidden knife. Whatever it is, it’s Wrong and needs to be destroyed as soon as possible. The thing in the box makes a high-pitched “Eep!” as it hits the floor, and suddenly Dean is flung backward into the wall, knife flying from his hand. As Dean slides to the floor, he sees Castiel leaning over the box and scooping the monstrosity into his arms. After checking it over, he turns to Dean, his face twisted in rage.

“You could have harmed it!” Castiel bellows. Dean had seen Cas in a killing rage before, but always directed towards others. Dean finds he doesn’t like having that anger focused on him; he’d forgotten how terrifying an angel of the Lord in full smite-mode can be.

Probably not a good time to mention Dean had been _intending_ to hurt the thing… Dean tries to scramble to his feet, but Castiel flicks his hand, knocking Dean into a table and sending the stacks of books crashing to the floor. “It’s fragile! You could have hurt it!” The sheer panic in Castiel’s voice keeps Dean from rising, unwilling to do anything that could be misconstrued as an attack on the whatever it was. Castiel had been holding back so far; who knew if he’d exhibit such control a third time?

“Cas?” Sam‘s voice comes from the direction of the stairs, and Castiel tenses and whirls to face him. “It‘s all right. Nobody is going to hurt it.” His tone is low, steadying, and when he steps into the living room, his hands are outstretched to show he’s unarmed. “Dean didn’t mean it,” he continues, giving his older brother a pointed look.

“It caught me by surprise,” Dean says, raising a hand to wipe the blood from his split lip. “Hunter’s instincts. You see something you don’t recognize, you assume it’s a monster. Which,” he adds hastily, when Castiel’s face darkens, “it obviously isn’t.”

For a moment, Dean thinks he glimpses the tip of the angle blade slipping into Castiel’s palm, but then his hand twitches and it vanishes, and Cas’ shoulders slump.

“What are you doing here, Cas?” Sam asks in that reasonable, you-know-you-want-to-trust-me tone that Dean can‘t duplicate to save his life.

“I know that you’re very angry with me, but I didn’t know where else to go. Please, hear me out, and if you still want me to leave, I will, and I’ll never bother you again.” Something has changed in Cas since they’d last seen him, and he‘s no longer the arrogant dick who wanted to go nuclear. He just looks bedraggled and miserable, and utterly defeated. Something has happened, and it’s broken Castiel.

Sam and Dean exchange looks, Sam quirking an eyebrow, and Dean nodding slightly. “All right,” Dean says. “Truce, for now. Am I going to need a beer for this?”

Castiel’s lips twitch slightly. “You may need several. I believe I may even need one.”

Okay. This sounds serious. Dean retrieves the last six pack from the kitchen and distributes the bottles. Castiel collapses onto the couch, the thing in his lap, its tentacles wrapped securely around the angel’s left arm, which Dean finally notices is bleeding sluggishly from several cuts. “Jesus, Cas! Is that thing hurting you?”

Following their gazes, Castiel explains, “I had to strengthen the wards. They were inadequate. I’m just healing slowly because my Grace has been weakened.” 

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Should we be expecting company?”

“I don’t think so. Not immediately, anyway.” Castiel glances around. “Where is Bobby?”

“None of your business,” Dean says shortly, just as Sam answers, “Following a lead. He‘ll be back tomorrow morning.” Bobby is actually out of town picking up the copy of the book Castiel had stolen on his last visit, and had ended up stranded due to the storm.

“A lead. You’re researching how to stop me.” Castiel sounds resigned, rather than hurt or angry. “It’s no longer necessary; I won’t be opening Purgatory. I will renege my deal with Crowley as soon as I am able.”

Dean wants to believe him; oh, God, he wants to. But the angel has been lying to them for so long, Dean would doubt him if he’d said the sky was blue.

“That’s great, Cas,” Sam says carefully, after another silent communication with Dean via eyebrows and forehead furrowing, “but why should we believe you? You seemed so set on opening Purgatory; what’s changed?”

For a long moment, Castiel is silent. He studies the beer in his hand, then places it on the floor, unopened. “This.” Castiel raises the thing in his arms. Two of its eyes - the same blue as Castiel’s vessel’s - roll wildly in their sockets until they focus on Dean. “The war is over for me now. I’ve lost.” He says the last so softly, Dean’s not sure he heard him correctly.

“What is it? Aside from one ugly sonovabitch?” Dean demands. He misses Castiel’s flinch, and the way the angel’s grip tightens protectively around the creature. More of its eyes are on him now, and they haven’t once blinked. Dean is starting to get paranoid.

“It’s a Nephil,” Castiel says tonelessly. 

Before Dean can attempt to repeat the word and mangle it, Sam jumps in. “A Nephil? As in the Nephilim?” At Dean’s blank look, Sam switches into lecture mode. “They’re the children of fallen angels and humans, right? Supposed to be pretty powerful, and enough of a threat that God flooded the world to kill them all. Where did this one come from?”

“I made it,” the angel‘s voice is barely audible. “I was very surprised.”

“You made… wait, you mean you’re its parent?!” Oh, _shit_. Dean’s pretty certain he’s going to get a smiting, and he may even deserve it.

“Cas,” Sam’s voice is strangled, “are you saying you got some woman pregnant and she gave birth to this? Did you know what would happen?” _Did you do this on purpose?_ is the unspoken question. Castiel’s actions lately have been questionable, to say the least; he’d sent them into a parallel world to distract a freaking angel _hitman_ , and he’d prevented the sinking of the Titanic to acquire more souls for his war. And then there’s the whole Crowley and Purgatory issue. If the Nephilim are powerful enough that God would kill them with an epic flood that also killed many of His favorite creations, then that would make them a devastating weapon for Heaven’s civil war. Sam’s right to find anything Castiel does lately to be morally suspect. 

“No!” Castiel snaps, eyes flashing. Then his shoulders slump and his head sinks forward until his chin is resting on his chest. “There was no woman,” he finally says dully. “I bore the Nephil.” There’s a moment of dead silence as the Winchesters try to process this. Then…

“So you’re its _mother_?” Sam yowls as Dean just stares, jaw working soundlessly like a landed fish’s. Beer is totally inadequate for this situation. “What… but how does that even work?”

“You’re a _man_.” Dean finally manages to contribute to the conversation. He’s stated the obvious, sure, but he’s quite proud of himself for even being able to say something, considering.

“My _vessel_ is male. My true form’s gender is… complicated.”

Before Dean can say something else, probably equally unhelpful, Sam says, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you were…” Sam gestures at the Nephil, his tongue refusing to voice the word that would make the whole impossibility a reality. “You know.” Castiel cocks his head, making it clear that no, he doesn’t know. “Pregnant,” Sam finally manages. 

“I didn’t know. Not until it ripped its way out of my body. Like that movie you made me watch with the alien. It was very uncomfortable.” From the way he winces and rubs at a spot on his abdomen, it’s obvious that it had been more than ‘uncomfortable‘. Dean would guess ‘agonizing,’ or ‘excruciating.’

Especially if the closest comparison to the experience is a scene from _Alien_.

“Fun,” Dean winces.

“Not really,” Castiel says, giving Dean an odd look.

Sam just looks sick.

“How could you not know? And how could we not tell? Shouldn’t you have been all…” Dean holds his hand out from his stomach, miming a large belly, “…fat?”

Sam just groans, muttering something that sounds like, “How have you not been smited yet?”

“It grew within my Grace; there was no effect on my vessel. And I am the size of the Chrysler building, while the Nephil is very tiny. It would be easy to overlook.” His face hardens. “Or hide.”

Dean decides there’s not enough beer in the world to make the subject of angelic reproduction a comfortable one, so he tries to think of something else to talk about. He focuses on the Nephil, who is still watching him with way too many eyes. Dean hasn’t had this much attention on him since he’d last had to give an oral report when he was sixteen. Its appendages have loosened their death grip on Castiel’s arm and hang off his lap. 

Dean thinks about all the times he’s caught Castiel watching him while he slept. If this is what Castiel actually looks like, with that many eyes staring at Dean‘s sleeping form… Dean doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to sleep again. He shudders.

“So…” Dean says weakly. “Tentacles. It has _tentacles_. That means you do, too, right?”

“The Nephil has inherited several of my characteristics, yes. That is, if my true form were flesh and blood rather than a wavelength of celestial intent.” At Dean’s blank look, Castiel clarifies, “I’m an energy being, Dean. The Nephil has taken aspects of my appearance, and adapted it to a physical body. A bit unsuccessfully, I admit.”

“Yeah, but… in the lore, the Nephilim were described as beautiful, humanoid giants. This looks nothing like the descriptions,” Sam muses. “No offense,” he adds hastily. “Not that this Nephil isn’t beautiful… I mean, it’s certainly unique…”

Fortunately, Castiel doesn‘t seem offended by these slights towards his infant‘s appearance. “I assume the Nephil’s form depends on whichever parent gestates it. Since the previous Nephilim were born from the daughters of men, they looked human. This is the only Nephil borne by an angel. I have no idea how this will affect the nature of the Nephil.” Castiel sounds none too thrilled by this.

Dean studies the Nephil, which looks absolutely nothing like any of the pictures he‘s seen of angels. It studies him in return. “Man, what do you look like? I’m guessing you aren’t some chubby naked cherub or Roma Downey with wings.”

Castiel considers. “I suppose the creatures I most resemble would be an octopus and an elk, and I’ve been told my wings and beak resemble a raven’s. But I have far more eyes than any of those creatures.”

An octopus and an elk? How the Hell had that happened? It sounded like God had randomly selected a handful of animals and squished them together, not caring that they were wildly incompatible, and then sprinkled in some eyeballs for decoration. “So… you’re an octoelk? Or elktopus?” Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes. “Ever consider selling your story to the SyFy Channel?”

“I’m an angel,” Castiel says with a long-suffering sigh. “We come in many forms. My breed happens to have land, sea, and air aspects.”

“Awesome,” is all Dean can manage. He opens a second beer. “So why’s it so… juicy? You don’t ooze like that. Did it get that from its father? Wait… what is the father?” A horrible suspicion grows in Dean’s mind. He can only think of one other man besides themselves that Cas has been spending time with. “Tell me it’s not Crowley’s,” Dean demands. “Tell me you didn’t seal your partnership with more than a kiss!”

“It’s not Crowley’s,” Castiel snaps, horrified and more than a little offended. “I would never fornicate with a demon!”

“Nephilim are half _human_ , Dean,” Sam reminds him.

“So, what? You try another ‘den of iniquity’ and order something else off the menu? Let Balthazar talk you into an orgy?” Cas seems to be trying to shrink into his trench coat. “Or did you just get drunk again and do something stupid?”

“Cas,” Sam says soothingly, after shooting a glare at Dean, “it’s all right if you’ve been with another man; we’re not going to judge you. But if it’s something that could cause trouble in the future, we need to know.”

Sam’s words have no effect; if anything, Castiel looks even more agitated. “I’d prefer not to say,” he says desperately. “Please don’t make me say.”

He’s definitely hiding something, and it’s obviously something they won’t like. Which makes it very important that they find out.

“You wanted us to trust you, Cas. How can we if you still won’t tell us everything?” Dean says, aiming to wound and is rewarded when Castiel flinches.

“That’s not fair,” Castiel snaps. “I’ll tell you everything I know about Purgatory and Crowley’s plans, but the Nephil’s parentage has no bearing on my actions of the past year.”

“Cas…” Sam’s voice is suddenly soft, delicate, and he seems to ooze empathy. “Did someone force you?” 

Dean sucks in a breath. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to him, and he’s seized by the desire to hunt down and _destroy_ whoever had touched _his_ angel.

“No,” Castiel says flatly. Dean doesn’t think he’s lying, but it doesn’t exactly sound like the truth, either. Cas is silent for a long moment, then seems to come to a decision. He takes a deep breath and murmurs, “It’s yours, Dean.” Cas lowers his head, hiding his face.

“No,” Dean says flatly. No fucking way is that thing his. Castiel’s just saying that to throw them off, to avoid giving them the real answer.

Sam stares at the Nephil with a mixture of horror and… delight?

Cas fidgets under their combined gazes, unable to meet their eyes. “You have to believe me… I wouldn‘t have wanted this to happen, especially not this way… but it’s ours.”

“Why would you even think - ”

And then it clicks: Castiel knows Dean’s one weakness is family. He could no longer count on his own bond with Dean, and he couldn’t use Sam or Bobby, so he’d found some little Hell creature and claimed it was his to win Dean back over.

“Get. Out.” Dean’s trembling with rage.

Cas looks stricken. “Dean,” he begins, his voice small.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull; maybe this is another idiotic scheme of Balthazar‘s, or maybe you just made a stupid mistake and you want us to cover your ass. If you’d just talked to us, maybe we could have worked through our problems. But trying to get at me by claiming some ugly little Hell creature is _family?_ ” Later, Dean will blame his outburst on alcohol. “You went too far, Castiel. I’m tired of you manipulating us! Get out of here! I don’t want to see you again!” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them; Cas might be going down a destructive path, but Dean still cares enough for him to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Castiel makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and struggles to his feet. He gives Dean a last, anguished look, then vanishes.

_Shit…_ He’d expected Castiel to fly off, since it’s his normal method of coping with a confrontation with Dean, but he usually spares a moment to get all righteous and attempt to justify his actions before storming off.

This time, Cas had simply run.

“Dammit…” He can still see the look in the angel’s eyes as he’d pulled the monstrosity protectively to his chest before flying off - hurt, betrayal, shame… and sheer terror. He’d come running when the creature had shown distress at Dean’s handling of it, and even though Cas had held it awkwardly, there’d been a tenderness as well in the way he‘d caressed its limbs and cradled it close to his chest. It’s the greatest emotional range the angel has ever shown in such a short span of time, and Dean can think of only one explanation. He’d been acting on raw parental instinct.

It’s not a trick; the creature really is Castiel’s baby.

“Dean…” Sam begins. 

“Don‘t start, Sammy,” Dean growls. “You and Bobby are the ones who said I trusted him too much!” He lurches to his feet and starts pacing. “And you were right; he’s been using us all this time. Why would I think this time would be any different?”

Sam, the big girl, seemed to have lost any enmity he’d felt towards Cas the moment he’d uttered the word ‘pregnant,’ as if that had absolved Cas of all sin. “Because he did what you asked, Dean… He needed help, and this time, he came to you to ask for it.”

Dean hates Sam‘s ability to show him just what a douche he can be, though not as much as he hates himself for being one. His anger ebbs as quickly as it had flared up. Dean stops pacing and leans against the wall, arms folded, gazing at the squashed box that had held the Nephil. “It’s just… it’s pretty unbelievable, right? I mean, he’s _Cas_ , the bad ass warrior of God. Kinda hard to believe he’s a _mother._ ” 

“Mothers can be bad ass warriors too, you know.” Sam quirks an eyebrow. “Remember ours? And ‘unbelievable‘ is pretty normal for us.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, which is somehow still smooth and shiny despite having missed a shower. “And don’t tell me you didn’t believe him… you were taking him seriously right up until he said it was yours.”

The Nephil’s wide, guileless green eyes had seemed disturbingly familiar. Like the eyes Dean saw whenever he looked into a mirror. The Nephil had made his skin crawl, made him feel queasy just to look at it. His first impulse had been to _kill_ it. If Cas had been telling the truth, Dean had been about to try to kill his own child.

Its unnaturalness had _terrified_ him. He hadn‘t wanted Cas to be right, so he‘d immediately rejected the Nephil without giving Cas a chance to explain, and then lashed out.

“Do you really believe it’s a trick to make us more sympathetic?” Sam asks doubtfully.

Dean slumps, face buried in his hand. “No. Cas ain’t much of an actor, and the situation’s so ridiculous there’s no way he could have made it up. Besides… you saw how he was behaving. Don’t know why he thinks it’s mine, but it’s definitely _his_. Hell, maybe angels reproduce through _touch_ or something. He came to us because he was afraid, he told us he was doing what we wanted and not going through with his insane plan, and I _yelled_ at him.” He raises his head and stares out a rain-streaked window into the miserable night. Definitely not a good night to be out there alone with a newborn. He grabs a flashlight sitting on the desk top and heads towards the door. “I have to go after him.” He’s about to go charging out, but Sam stops him by tossing his jacket at him.

“What makes you think you’ll be able to find him? He could be anywhere.”

Dean throws open the front door, grimacing as a blast of icy wind drives needles of rain into his exposed skin. “He exhausted himself setting those wards; no way he has the energy to fly somewhere else and create more. He’s still on the property somewhere, and I’m going to bring him back.”

With that, Dean braces himself and head off into the rainy night.

~tbc~

I’m not sure about this story. When I first began writing snippets of it (which will appear in later chapters), it was straight-up crack. But when went back and started the first chapters and the explanation of the Nephil’s origins, what came out was pure angst. I considered doing a rewrite, giving the Nephil a fluffy, ridiculous conception and a warm (if confused) welcome by the Winchesters, thus making this story cracky fluff, but I just couldn’t do it. I think it’s because I have this vague idea for a more serious Nephilim war story that I could tie into this, so I wanted to give the Nephil a suitable origin story that would fit with the later story’s tone.

And my apologies for referring to the Nephil as ‘it’ throughout the story; that’s going to change within a few chapters.

If this story is similar to anything out there, it’s purely coincidental. I’m still relatively new to the _Supernatural_ fandom, and I haven’t read a whole lot of what’s out there. And if there are similar fics… well, point them out, because I may enjoy them!


	2. Spoils of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a birth, Cas is coping, and Dean is a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally meant to be part of the first chapter, but I split it when it got too long. Also, with this chapter, it’s sadly becoming clear that this story isn’t meant to be crack. God help me, I think I’ve written semi-serious sort-of-but-not mpreg. And poor Cas is rather out of character, though I blame that on him having been through a lot.

_Several hours earlier_

The first sign that something is wrong with Castiel is a peculiar moodiness that even the emotionally-stunted angels under his command pick up on. It starts with a conversation with Hester, in which she’s seeking clarification on an order Castiel had given. Frustrated by her inability to think it through for herself rather than bother him with such a trivial matter, he snaps at her with a vehemence he usually reserves for demons. Or Dean Winchester.

Startled, she gives a keening cry and flies off.

Before anyone else can bother him, Castiel flees to the little slice of Heaven that has become his favorite retreat, where he can read the book he’d stolen from Bobby’s and hopefully find what he needs to complete his and Crowley’s plan.

He’s just settled on his bench, book open on his lap, when he feels a peculiar sensation, like something brushing against his vessel’s skin, but coming from within. He presses a palm to his side, but whatever it was, it’s gone. 

His vessel has been behaving strangely lately; it had been experiencing hunger pangs, which Castiel had been slow to recognize, and he’d even found himself drifting off to sleep during one of his rare quiet moments. He’d thought perhaps his focus on the civil war was affecting his control of the body, that he was failing to meet its needs as a result. He’d grown used to the sensations and was ignoring them, figuring he had time later to repair any damage he’d caused when the war was over. 

But this? This is new. And alarming.

When the feeling isn’t repeated, however, Castiel pushes his concern aside and focuses on his reading. He only manages to skim two pages, however, before Inias appears before him, expression apprehensive and feathers puffed in response to a threat. 

“Castiel, Raphael is here. He wishes to speak with you. He’s alone and unarmed, and comes under a flag of truce,” Inias says anxiously. “He gave his word that he only wants to talk. Do you think it’s a trick? Should I send for reinforcements?”

Reinforcements would do no good against an archangel, even an unarmed one. Besides, if Raphael had given his word, he’d keep it. Though Castiel wouldn‘t put it past him to find some loophole. “Tell him I will talk to him,” Castiel decides. “But be ready to come if I call.”

Raphael waits for him in a part of Heaven Castiel had set aside for private meetings with his spies, a trail winding through an autumn forest, where a pair of young lovers are forever walking hand in hand.

When he sees Castiel, he studies him closely, and Castiel squirms beneath the laser-focus scrutiny. “You’re looking better than I expected,” Raphael says mildly.

Castiel isn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “What do you want, Raphael?”

Raphael holds out his hands placatingly. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” Castiel scoffs. “Then call off your army, and forget about the Apocalypse. Earth belongs to the humans now, and they don’t want this.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen. The Apocalypse is God’s plan, after all, and I am a faithful son. Surrender, and I will ease your suffering.” Raphael’s smile is chilling. “What’s coming will be painful for you, and demoralizing for those who follow you.”

Castiel assumes his brother is referring to losing the civil war and the Apocalypse that would follow. “I’m not interested in your ‘help.’ And I will oppose you as long as I am alive; I know you would not be foolish enough to let me survive the Apocalypse.”

“You’re correct, of course… but I can be merciful. I can give you quick death where none will witness your betrayal would be far kinder than being torn apart by your own people. Or I may feel generous and offer you exile; I‘ll shred your wings first, of course, and I won‘t hide you from the rest of the Host, but you‘d still live.”

Castiel shifts uneasily, wondering if the betrayal Raphael is referring to his arrangement with Crowley. Exposing the demon deal could potentially turn his own troops against him. “I don‘t know what you‘re talking about,” he says warily.

“I’m referring to my little time bomb. Really, Castiel, you shouldn’t have let anyone knock you unconscious. Who knows what could happen while you‘re out?” Raphael presses his hand to Castiel’s abdomen, and again he feels that fluttering sensation, just beneath the archangel’s palm. “I can’t believe it made it this far along,” Raphael says. “I thought you and your ragtag bunch would be dead within a year. Good thing I had a contingency plan.” And Raphael smirks cruelly.

Castiel jerks away. “What have you done, Raphael?” 

“I’ve won the war.”

Raphael sounds far too confident for this to be a bluff. “We’re still at an impasse,” Castiel reminds him. “Nothing has changed.” Not that he’s aware of, anyway; Raphael and his army has been strangely quiet the past month, with only the occasional small skirmish to prove they were still at war.

“Not yet,” Raphael agrees. “But I give you an hour, maybe two…”

“What did you do to me?!” His voice is hoarse with fear.

“I gave you a gift… one not seen on Heaven or Earth for a very long time.” Raphael spreads his three sets of wings, which fill the forest around them. “Call for me, and I will end your suffering. I will even take the abomination off your hands. Consider it the spoils of war. After all, you’ve given victory to me so easily.” With a mighty rush of wings, Raphael vanishes.

He’s still staring at the spot where Raphael had been when a wave of crippling sensation hits him, and he doubles over with a cry. It takes him a moment to identify the feeling; he’s only felt it this severely once before.

Hunger. He doesn’t understand why, but suddenly, he’s starving - a ravenous hunger comparable to the Famine-fueled craving for red meat.

He acts on instinct, flinging out his wings and diving through the ether towards Earth and the first source of food he sees.

He lands somewhat ungracefully in the half-full lobby of a restaurant he recognizes as the one with the clown who sells the breakfasts Dean likes. Around him, people cry out in surprise at his sudden appearance. He finds their voices annoying and with a gesture, sends them to a field several miles outside of town.

Castiel quickly devours the already-prepared burgers, including the half-eaten ones still on trays in the lobby. From there, he eats his way through the burger patties, chicken, fish, and fries, then empties the containers of toppings.

He ends up in the freezer, trying and then tossing aside frozen meat patties as inedible. At least the raw cookies are palatable, and eats several boxes of those.

His hunger isn’t sated, but he’s taken enough of an edge off that he finally becomes aware that the internal fluttering has returned, only it’s much stronger now, and he can see movement beneath his shirt. Fingers shaking, he unbuttons his shirt to reveal his abdomen and the roiling motion of his flesh.

Something pushes against his skin, deforming it, stretching it until it’s nearly translucent before retracting. Something is behind the thin veil of skin that hides his Grace… something that isn’t him. Something _alive_. And whatever it is, his feeding binge has just given it enough strength to force its way out.

He barely keeps from launching himself back homeward to seek the help of the angelic healers that serve under him. Raphael’s warning that his own people will kill him still rings in his ears, and he knows he can’t go back, not yet. He can only ride this out, and hope there will be enough of him left over to put back together.

His Grace flares, burning hotter than it ever has before, and he becomes aware that parts of it have integrated into this foreign object, and when it pulls loose, it will shred his Grace and take pieces of it with it.

The pain is excruciating, and it rapidly intensifies. Castiel crumples to the floor and curls in on himself, only vaguely aware that he’s calling out to his Father to help him get through this. Of course, there’s no answer.

And then with a final, agonizing wrench, his Grace sunders, his vessel splits, he screams, and everything goes dark.

When Castiel comes to, he’s aware of heat and light and the most overwhelming sensation of all, pain. He opens his eyes and finds that the source of the light and heat is the smoldering rubble around him, what remains of the restaurant. Scorched meat patties litter the ground around him, and a pile of them sits quivering on the tile before him.

Then it snaps open dozens of eyes, and the blob of meat awkwardly jerks towards him.

Castiel isn’t ashamed to admit he may have screamed a little bit.

At first, Castiel’s mind refuses to understand what’s happened. He has no comprehension of why his vessel is torn and bleeding, why a quarter of his Grace is just _gone_ , or why the tiny thing shivering on the floor is staring expectantly up at him with myriad eyes that all look familiar.

And then he _looks_ at the creature, and sees the tattered edges of its Grace - his own missing chunk of Grace - blended with the brilliance of a familiar human soul, and he’s revolted. It’s a Nephil, an abomination to God and Heaven, and he‘s its _mother._

It’s a rather alarming turn of events, and Castiel lacks the coping mechanisms necessary to deal with this.

Numbly, he scoops the quivering mass into a box that had somehow survived the explosion and, with what remains of his strength, instinctively flies to the only place where he’ll feel safe.

~oOo~

_Now_

As Dean had predicted, Castiel hadn’t gone very far. He’d ended up in the outbuilding furthest from the house while still being inside his wards. It’s cold and damp, and he’s so fatigued that he can’t block the chill in his vessel’s bones. Or the pain from the Nephil’s emergence point whenever he bends his torso, which is healing too slowly, though it‘s no longer leaking light and sound. He picks his way across the cluttered floor - his night vision hasn’t failed him, at least - and finds a spot along the rear wall that’s clear and relatively clean, and sinks to the floor. The cement is cold beneath him, but he’s too exhausted to move again. He sets the Nephil on the floor beside him and leans back against the wall, pulling his trench coat more tightly around him to warm him. The Nephil nudges against him, demanding attention and sustenance.

Castiel just stares down at the squishy mass of prehensile limbs and eyes that has ruined his life. It’s hideous, even to an angel taught to view all God‘s creations as beautiful, with its raw-looking, wet red and black skin that looks frighteningly like exposed organ tissue, its massive, mismatched googly eyes, and its random assortment of features from the various creatures Castiel resembles. If it had been full angel, its features would be fluid and ever-shifting: a casual observer would at one moment glimpse two sets of branching antlers more elaborate than any Earthly elk, the next a sharp, tearing beak and dark beady eyes, and then find they’d been replaced by glistening smooth skin and hundreds of delicate tentacles. He’s been told the effect is quite beautiful, for those who can handle the sight.

In the Nephil, the features are static and the effect is nauseating.

Because of this… this _abomination_ , he’s lost a war. Worse, he’s lost his home, and his family. Even the humans he’s adopted don’t want him.

He should smite it. His Father’s orders are clear: Nephilim will not be permitted to live, and if he destroys it himself, he _may_ be able to return to Heaven. After all, he didn’t seek to bear it; it was forced on him, he was a victim, and he may be forgiven if he performs menial Messenger duty as penance for the next few centuries.

He would be gentler than any of Raphael’s men. He could make it quick, painless. It would be far kinder than letting it live, he tells himself. The only thing it could look forward to is a life on the run, avoiding angels and demons and any monster who has a use for a half-angel. His hand hovers over it, power building in his palm as he prepares to end its life. _This is a mercy_.

Except… it’s staring up at him with guileless, beseeching eyes, three of which are an achingly familiar green, and he can feel the emotions it’s radiating, still primitive, but pure. Absolute trust, and need, and unconditional _love._ It’s the only thing on Heaven and Earth that loves him. Castiel lowers his hand.

“I’m very sorry,” Castiel tells it. “You deserve a much better parent than I.” He has no idea how to take care of an infant. He’s been running on instinct so far - instincts he hadn’t been aware angels possessed - and they could only do so much for the half-human child. It likely has needs far beyond his ability to comprehend. Yet he can’t abandon it with someone more suitable, either; angel fledglings feed on Grace, and the Nephilim are no different. And without access to Heaven, he is its only source of food.

Castiel carefully picks the Nephil up and settles it onto his lap, then unfurls his wings and wraps them around himself, forming a cocoon of shadowy feathers that keeps back the cold. Now he can feel the Nephil’s contentment as it nestles close to his chest, drawing tendrils of his Grace into itself for nourishment. Absently, he strokes the skin between its still-damp wings and begins to plan for a bleak future on the run. He’d visited many beautiful, isolated places during his search for God, and he could think of several that would be ideal for hiding the Nephil. A mountain range, perhaps; they could soar over the cold beauty of the Alps, or watch the seasons change in the Rockies. Or maybe they could live in a rainforest, nesting like birds in treetops and enjoying the diversity before the inevitable Apocalypse destroys it.

It will be a lonely existence, but it can be done.

The door creaks, and Castiel freezes when he hears the door creak open, followed by boots clomping across the floor. A flashlight beam precedes a shadowy, dripping figure, which stiffens at the sight of Cas. He’s not surprised to see it’s Dean, but he still tenses, bracing himself for Dean’s wrath. But Dean doesn’t immediately resume their argument; instead, he stands very still, staring silently down at Castiel and the Nephil, which is clearly visible through wings that are invisible to the human’s eyes. 

Dean’s expression is carefully neutral, and Castiel tries to head off the inevitable explosion.

“Dean… please… I’ll leave as soon as I am able and you’ll never see us again. Just give me the chance to recover my strength first.” He tries struggling to his feet, but his legs won’t obey and he only manages to flop sideways. The Nephil protests when its dislodged from Castiel’s Grace.

“No, you don‘t have to get up.” Dean pauses, visibly gathering himself. Castiel winces inwardly. “I’m still angry with you over your deal with Crowley. Hell, I’m _furious,_ and it’s making it very difficult to trust you right now. But I shouldn’t have lost it like I did.” Dean sighs and slides down the wall, until he’s seated a few feet from Castiel. “It’s hard to tell with you, but you’re scared, aren’t you? You went through something traumatic, and the last thing you need right now is for me to scream at you.”

Dean makes him sound so delicate… but he’s right. Usually, he can hold his own against Dean’s rants, but this time, his words had snapped what was left of Castiel’s fragile control, and he’d fled.

“And…” Dean pauses. “And it’s not like you’re the only one who’s made bad decisions involving demons. Me, Sam, Bobby… Hell, even my parents… Since we’re your biggest influences when it comes to learning about free will and making your own choices, I shouldn’t be surprised you‘re making the same stupid mistake we all did.” He smiles ruefully. “We need to find you a better role model. That‘s it… we‘re having a Chuck Norris marathon as soon as the power comes back on.”

Castiel doesn’t know how to respond; he’s already explained his actions, and he’s _not_ sorry that he’s trying to save Earth from another Apocalypse. But he does regret not talking to Dean first.

“This thing with Raphael, we’ll find another way to handle it, yeah? One that doesn’t involve demons and Purgatory.” Dean grins broadly. “We stopped the Apocalypse together, and there were _two_ archangels involved; there’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to handle Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel.”

“Yes,” Castiel says dubiously.

Dean is silent for awhile, studying the Nephil, which has stopped feeding and is returning the favor. Castiel senses a spark of interest from it; it recognizes Dean’s soul as a match for the pieces of soul within itself, and it knows Dean’s voice from before its emergence. It’s slowly coming to the conclusion that Dean is somehow important to it.

“How’d you end up with a kid, anyway? I know cloud-seeding isn‘t your thing, but I can‘t imagine how you‘d end up with it by accident.”

“It was Raphael’s doing. He is our healer and therefore knows the bodies of angels best; he triggered the Nephil’s gestation, and hid it from me until it was too late.” Castiel smiles faintly. “He must be very disappointed that the Nephil did not emerge while I was in Heaven, for all to see.”

Dean just stares at him in horror. “Raphael did this to you?”

At Castiel’s nod, Dean looks ready to hunt down and gank Raphael right then. “I almost admire his deviousness, using creation as a weapon. It‘s far more creative than I would have given him credit for.” And winning a war by creating life rather than ending it was almost poetic. It would appeal to those angels tired of all the death and destruction - though it wouldn’t stop them from killing the abominations - and sway them to Raphael’s way of thinking.

“But… why _this?_ ” Dean demands. “I mean, yeah, it’d be inconvenient if you needed to stop to change a diaper in the middle of a battle, but it’s not something you couldn’t work around. Wouldn’t it be easier to just smite you? He’s done it before!”

“Yes… but then I would have become a martyr to my cause, and my army would have fought all the harder. As the parent of an abomination to God, however, even my own troops will turn on me, and Raphael will have won without a fight.” 

“Wait… does this mean you can’t even go home again? Can’t you just explain that it’s Raphael’s fault? Cas, you’re the victim here!”

Castiel smiles bitterly. “It doesn’t matter. I reek of Nephil; I’d be killed before I even had the chance to explain myself. We‘ve all been conditioned to react without thought. If I hadn‘t recognized my own Grace in the child, I would have instinctively killed it. Nephilim are too powerful to live.” He pauses as a thought strikes him. He considers Raphael’s offer, to ’take the abomination off his hands.’ “I believe Raphael may have another reason for doing this as well; he can’t sire a Nephil himself without consequences, but if he claims mine, he can raise it in secret and use it as a weapon.”

“Jesus… you really are fucked, aren‘t you? What are you going to do now?”

Castiel leans back against the metal wall, the chill of it seeping through his trench coat. “Well, since I was told to leave here and never return, I’ll find somewhere isolated where I can protect the Nephil. If I’m lucky, I may have a few years before he Apocalypse finds us, or Crowley opens Purgatory without me to keep him in check and creates Hell on Earth.”

“You’re not going anywhere, man. Forget what I said before; you’re staying here, and we’ll find a way to fix this.”

And Castiel finally believes him. As he’d said before, Dean and Sam had a way of exceeding all expectations, beating impossible odds and coming out victorious. Perhaps, if he’d just gone to Dean two years ago, they’d already have resolved this.

“Cas… what you said about it being mine… what did you mean? We never did anything. Right?” Dean’s voice is suddenly strained. “Did Raphael - ? I haven‘t had my mind Windexed again, have I?”

“No, Dean, we never ‘did’ anything.” He actually air quotes it, which earns a grin from Dean. “It was… an immaculate conception.

“Angels do reproduce, but it is a rare process that normally must blessed by our Father, and then assisted by one of a handful of angels gifted with the power to enable the union, the chief of which is Raphael, our healer. A piece of grace would be taken from each of the parent angels, and Raphael would mold them together into a new life, which he would then place within the more feminine of the parent angels, where it would feed on her Grace until its birth. Once it detaches from its mother’s Grace, the infant would be welcomed into its designated Choir as a new brother or sister, and absorb Grace from them until it matured.” Castiel closes his eyes and tips his head back, imagining the reception mother and child received from the joyous angels. He hadn’t realized until then just how much he craved the love and attention they would have lavished upon him, had his child been entirely angelic.

“Shortly after I pulled Sam from Hell, I had a confrontation with Raphael, during which he knocked me unconscious. It never occurred to me that he’d done something to me while I was out until shortly before the Nephil’s birth. I believe that Raphael used fragments of your soul that were left over from when I carried you out of Perdition and fused them with my Grace to create the child.”

“So it really is mine,” Dean whispers, staring at the Nephil with a mix of horror and awe. “I have an angel tentacle baby. I’m really not sure how to feel about that.”

Castiel smiles faintly. “I feel much the same way.”

The Nephil seems to have come to a decision about Dean, and slowly slips off Castiel’s lap and undulates across the short distance between them until it’s by Dean’s legs. Castiel tenses as it curiously probes Dean’s thigh with one extended limb. Dean stares down at it, but doesn’t make any threatening moves. “What’s it doing?”

“It recognizes you - well, your soul - and it wants to get to know you.” He can feel its curiosity about its other parent, and wariness, and a desire to love and be loved in return. Castiel desperately hopes it isn’t in for a major disappointment.

“Is it safe to touch?” Dean asks uncertainly.

Castiel bristles. “It is an _infant_ ,” he growls. “It can’t hurt you, nor does it want to.”

“I didn’t mean it like that! I meant, is it fragile? If I pick it up, will I hurt it?”

“Oh… no, it’s tougher than it looks. Just don’t drop it.”

Dean gives him a look, then pulls the Nephil up to his chest. “Wow, squishy,” he observes. He sounds fascinated rather than disgusted, to Castiel‘s relief. “About my soul… where’d you get pieces of it? It’s not something you can just find lying around.” Dean runs his fingers along one of the Nephil’s still-damp wings. “Oh, they’re soft!” he says with surprise.

“When I retrieved you from Hell, your soul was a damaged thing, still burning brightly but fraying at the edges. I carried you within my Grace, to protect you as well as heal you during our journey from Perdition, and you… bled. There were still fragments of your soul lingering within my Grace. I could have purged them, but… they were comforting.”

It was foolish of him, keeping those fragments inside. At first he’d done it in the hopes they’d help him better understand his charge, the Righteous Man who fought his destiny. Later, they were a way of reminding himself that even though he was cut off from the Host, he wasn’t alone.

Dean is wearing much the same expression he’d had when Castiel had announced they’d shared a profound bond. But before the moment can become even more awkward, Castiel does something that surprises him as much as it does Dean: he yawns, and widely enough that his jaw cracks.

“Oh,” Castiel says faintly. “I haven’t done that before.”

“You must be exhausted. Cas, when was it born?”

“At 11:57 pm. Fortunately, it was still Thursday, though barely.” Dean, of course doesn’t grasp the significance of this, that the day of birth ties it even more firmly to the angel of Thursday. Now that Castiel is slowly coming to accept his new role as a parent, he’s grateful for this.

“So… it’s been barely two hours. No wonder you look so beat; you really shouldn’t be pushing yourself like this.” Dean clambers to his feet, Nephil still cradled protectively in one arm. “C’mon, let’s get out of the cold and get you to bed. Can you fly us inside?”

“No… I used the last of my strength getting us here. At the moment, I am almost completely helpless.” Castiel tries unsuccessfully to hide his frustration as he struggles to his feet, using the wall as support. “Oh,” he says as he tips forward, barely managing to keep himself from pitching into Dean. “Perhaps I am completely helpless after all.”

“We’ll just have to make this quick, then. Try to run between the rain drops, okay?” Dean quips.

Castiel frowns. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he says.

Dean just rolls his eyes. “Right. Hope you don’t mind getting a little wet, then.” His face drops to the Nephil still in his arms. “What about it? Will it be okay? The storm’s pretty fierce and I really don’t want to expose a baby to that.”

Castiel pulls off his trench coat - which is far more difficult than it should be, since it requires him to remove his stabilizing hand from the wall - and tosses it to Dean. “Cover the Nephil with this; it should provide adequate protection.”

Dean carefully wraps the coat around the Nephil and holds it in the crook of one arm. The other, he offers to Cas. It’s embarrassing just how much of his weight Dean needs to support, but he’s too tired to care. He’s barely even clinging to consciousness as he follows Dean out into the rainy night.

~oOo~

Castiel is practically a dead weight in Dean’s arm by the time they reach the house. They’re both soaked to the skin, despite an attempt by Cas to shield them from the worst of the rain by wrapping his wings around them, and Dean can hear Castiel’s teeth chattering. Or maybe that’s his own.

At least the Nephil, wrapped securely in the trench coat, seems to be escaping the worst of it. However, it’s wiggling around, desperate to escape the confines of the coat, and it’s not making things easier.

All Dean can think about is getting warm and dry, which will prove much harder without power. There’s always the fireplace, but it’ll take time to get a good fire going, and he curses himself for not thinking of that before heading out.

Fortunately, Sam seems to have anticipated their needs, because Dean can see the warm orange glow and flickering light of a fire shining through one window. Dean quickens his pace in anticipation of sitting in front of the fireplace. Castiel stumbles, and Dean is forced to slow again and tighten his grip around the angel.

Sam must have been watching for them, because a moment later, he bursts out the door, dressed in a rain slicker that Dean wishes he’d found before running headlong into this monsoon, and comes up on Castiel’s other side, taking the bulk of the angel’s weight so Dean can concentrate on not dropping the squirming Nephil.

When they finally get inside, Sam pushes them toward the living room and its gloriously warm fire. Dean notices that he’d also collected every blanket and towel he could find, and he’d laid out dry clothing for them both. “I’m boiling some water for cocoa, too,” Sam says.

Sam is officially the most awesome brother _ever_ , Dean thinks.

Despite looking ready to collapse, Castiel takes the Nephil from Dean and shakily makes his way to the blanket pile, where he gently frees the infant and nestles it in a fold of cotton. He accepts the clothes Sam offers him, eying them curiously before shucking off his suit jacket and tie. Realizing that Castiel apparently has no modesty, but not having the heart to yell at him, Dean grabs his clothes and heads to the bathroom, while Sam mutters something about fixing the cocoa and rushes to the kitchen.

When Dean comes back, drier and no longer shivering, the cocoa is done and Cas is dressed. His hair is still dripping down his face - he’s obviously having some trouble grasping the concept of towels - and he’s sitting on the couch next to the Nephil, fidgeting with the edges of his too-long sleeves. Dean sips from his cocoa and watches for a moment before turning to Sam, who is obviously about to burst with curiosity. Dean really can’t handle the third degree right now, so he remains silent, watching in amusement as Sam grows more and more impatient with him. 

“Well?” Sam finally demands, when the silence draws on too long.

“Well, it looks like Cas is staying indefinitely. Oh… you’re an uncle and I have tentacle monster for a kid.” Dean slurps down the rest of his cocoa, wishing he’d thought to make it Irish, first. “Look, I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Right now, I need time to process this, and Cas is about to pass out. And so am I.”

Dean sets aside the mug and heads to the living room, absently picking up the jumble of wet clothes Castiel had carelessly discarded in front of the fireplace, clearing the area because he’s going to leave the couch for Cas and sleep stretched out on the hard floor in front of the fire. He grabs some blankets from Sam’s neat pile, then looks down at Castiel, who is still somehow awake.

Castiel is practically drowning in Sam’s clothes, and it makes him seem very small and vulnerable. Dean suspects that was Sam‘s intention; he could have just as easily given Cas some of Dean’s clothing, which would’ve been a better fit.

“Your brother is very large,” Cas says irritably, tugging at sleeves that hang to his fingertips. Dean rolls his eyes and helps him roll up the sleeves.

“Yeah… my theory is our mom had an affair with Sasquatch. Explains his hair, too.”

Castiel’s lips twitch, and then he starts fussing over the Nephil until Sam hands him a mug of steaming cocoa. Castiel regards it uncertainly for a moment, then accepts it and gulps it down without any regard for the temperature. “That was very nice. Thank you,” he says, handing the mug back and returning his attention to his offspring.

Dean lays a few layers of blankets in front of the fire, not enough to save himself from a backache (he _hates_ getting old; he used to be able to sleep on harder surfaces and wake up feeling refreshed) but he doesn‘t want to steal too many blankets from the Nephil’s makeshift nest. He settles on his back, arms behind his head, and is about to close his eyes when Castiel drops a large bundle of blankets onto the floor next to him and begins to spread them out.

“What are you doing? Wouldn’t the couch be more comfortable?”

Castiel finishes arranging the blankets to his satisfaction, then sets the Nephil down next to Dean. “It wants to sleep between both of us. The attention will be good for it. And… I might rest better as well, knowing you’re there to help protect it,” he finishes shyly.

“Okay… I guess one night can’t hurt. But what if I accidentally do something you mistake as a threat to it?” Dean watches the Nephil gather its limbs around itself, then shut all its eyes simultaneously. “I really don’t need to be tossed into another table, thanks.”

Castiel considers this for a moment, then says very seriously, “Try to keep very still.”

Great. Dean is _so_ going to get smited for trying to scratch his ass in the middle of the night…

Castiel settles on his side, facing the Nephil and Dean. He rests his hand atop the Nephil, and visibly relaxes at the contact. His eyes close, and he shifts a bit closer, until his knees are touching Dean’s leg.

As something that feels like the world’s heaviest invisible feather comforter settles over him and Castiel sighs in contentment, it suddenly occurs to Dean that the Nephil isn’t the only one in desperate need of his attention. He remembers the longing look on the angel’s face when he’d talked about newborns being welcomed to the family, and suspected Castiel could use some of that as well. What should have been a joyous occasion is instead a death sentence.

It reinforces Dean’s feelings that angels are total dicks.

It’s hard to believe that the previous night, Dean had seen Cas as one of the monsters he needed to stop, a belief that had been reinforced when they’d found his midnight visit hadn’t been a social call, but a robbery. Now, Cas is clinging to him like one of those suction-cup Garfields Dean still sees in car windows. And they have a kid. Together.

Dean thinks the only reason he got any sleep at all is because of the alcohol. Otherwise, he’d never have been able to drift off.

Of course, Dean might have slept better if he hadn’t been wondering if maybe Castiel has something besides his wing wrapped around him, like a big-ass, eyeball-y tentacle.

Also? Castiel _snores_.

 

~tbc~


	3. Dazed and Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel shares ancestry with a black hole, Dean is domestic, Sam protects Cas from Chuck Norris, Bobby is Bobby, and the Nephil gets a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in ‘Let it Bleed,’ Dean didn’t know anything about H. P. Lovecraft, but since this is an AU, I figured, what the hey. He’s referenced Vonnegut, so he’s obviously more well-read than he pretends to be. Also? I can’t believe the response to this! I’ve gotten more reviews and hits and faves in the past few days than for any of my other fics. Huh. I’m also thrilled that people like my little Nephil; I think it’s adorable, but I’m weird like that and I wasn’t sure what other people would think. And there was supposed to be plot in this chapter, but I was having way too much fun with character moments, so that got pushed back. Oops. And, again, lots of talking. For such a long chapter, not a whole lot happens.
> 
> **Also, apologies for the italics nightmare. I've tried THREE times to fix it, and it's holding on to the italics no matter what I do, even when I deleted _everything_ and started from scratch! I don't have the time to keep trying to fix it today.**

When Sam wakes up the next morning, the first thing he does is find his phone and snap a picture of his brother and Cas. While Dean is still lying on his back, looking as though he hadn’t dared move a muscle, Castiel has shifted closer, his head pillowed on Dean’s chest and one arm thrown around his waist. The Nephil has made its way to the top of Dean’s head, and looks as though it’s nibbling on his hair. It’s freaking adorable, Sam thinks, and he can’t wait to get Dean alone so he can tease him about being an angel’s hugging pillow.

But he won’t say anything while Cas is listening; the angel probably isn’t in the right frame of mind for even gentle teasing.

Dean grumbles, a prelude to waking. His eyes open, then roll down towards Cas. “Dude, what the hell?” he mumbles. Then he seems to realize that something is going on with his head and encounters well-slimed hair and a clinging Nephil, which he accidentally pokes in an eye.

The Nephil _peeps_ in surprise.

Sam sometimes forgets just how _fast_ Castiel is; one moment, he’d seemed to be sound asleep, and the next he’s straddling Dean, the edge of his blade pressed to his throat.

“Ack! Cas! Getting a little tired of this!”

“I told you it would be wise not to move,” he says exasperatedly, pulling the blade away but still pinning Dean to the floor.

“Sorry… I wasn’t expecting to wake up and find your kid _eating my head._ ”

Castiel growls something that Sam doesn’t catch that makes Dean blanch, and Sam decides he needs to defuse the situation before Dean gets himself killed.

“How are you feeling, Cas?” Sam asks. The angel looks better, but there are still bags beneath the bags under his eyes and his voice is still rougher than normal. There’s also something different about him that Sam can’t put his finger on at the moment.

“You ask too many stupid questions,” the angel rumbles, shooting Sam a scowl.

He also seems a bit bitchy. So much for the dozens of questions Sam’s dying to ask about the Nephil and angel reproduction and how Dean managed to knock up an angel of the Lord.

“Sooo…” Dean says, after Castiel has carefully detached the Nephil from his head and cradled it to his chest. “Ready for your first day as a Dad?”

“I am technically its _mother_ , so I should be referred to as such,” Castiel corrects him.

“Okay, okay… so you’re Mama Cas.” Dean smirks. “I’m not going to be able to say that with a straight face.” 

Castiel frowns, perhaps recognizing that there’s a reference there that he doesn’t understand. “You don’t need to address me in that manner. I’m not _your_ mother.” His tone is scathing.

Yeah. _Definitely_ bitchy. But Sam can‘t blame him, really. This is clearly beyond the angel’s ability to cope.

Castiel carefully stands, looking steadier on his feet but he’s obviously nowhere near recovered from his ordeal. The Nephil wraps its tentacles around his arm and chest and smushes itself against him. It’s freaky just how flat it can get, looking like a smear of gore with bulbous eyes.

“Uh… should I be worried about this?” Dean holds up his slimy fingers.

Castiel shrugs. “It’s simply a discharge resulting from the electrical properties of an energy being reacting with organic matter. It’s composed primarily of water. It is completely harmless and should leave only a small residue when it dries.”

“Yeah, well… dibs on the shower when the power comes back on.”

Castiel shifts from foot to foot, and at first Sam thinks he’s trying to sway to soothe the Nephil. Then he gets a look at Cas’ face - the angel looks utterly lost. Worse than he’d looked when he’d been cut off from Heaven. Worse than when he’d come back to them practically human. This is something far outside his understanding, and he’s desperately waiting for guidance.

And that wretched, hopeless look is only enhanced by the too-large clothing Sam had lent Cas; he looks tiny and fragile in it, and Sam kinda wants to give him a hug. Except that with his current hair-trigger protective instinct, he’d probably gut Sam before realizing it was a friendly gesture. 

Also, his pants are slipping down, and Sam hadn’t thought to lend him underwear, so a hug could be somewhat _awkward_.

“Seriously, Cas… how are you doing?” Dean tries, with more success than Sam. “You’ve been through a lot, and you didn‘t look too good when I brought you in last night.” 

“I could use some food,” Castiel says reluctantly. “I’m too drained to properly maintain my vessel, and I’m starting to feel the effects.”

And that’s when it hits Sam just what looks so off about Castiel: he’d lost weight. When wearing the bulky trench coat, Castiel’s figure is hard to see, but now that Sam is looking, it’s obvious that he’d dropped more weight than is probably healthy for his vessel. Poor Cas; he must have been suffering for quite a while, and no one had even noticed.

“C’mon, Mr. Grumpy-pants, let’s find you something to eat.” Dean heads into the kitchen, Castiel trailing after and grumbling something about how his pants are incapable of expressing emotion.

Sam hangs back to gather up the bedding and pile it off to the side of the room, but his attention is on the kitchen, where it sounds like Dean has just sacrificed his pie to Castiel. And that the offering has been accepted with gusto.

“Dude, slow down! What are you, part black hole or something?” Dean sounds impressed.

“It is possible; much of the matter used in my creation was drawn from stellar phenomena, such as nebulas and comets. It’s not inconceivable that a black hole was used in my formation.”

“So… definitely gonna need to make something I can cook in large quantities.” 

Sam finishes clearing the room and follows them into the kitchen, and hides a smile at the sight that greets him.

Castiel is slumped over the table, chin cupped in one hand and the other on the Nephil, which is situated on another chair pulled close enough for them to keep in contact. The empty pie tin is on the table before him, completely clean even of crumbs. Dean has his head buried in the fridge, where’s he’s rooting around for something still edible.

Sam takes in the surprisingly domestic scene with an arched eyebrow. “Wow, Dean gave you the rest of his pie, huh? I thought he never shared.” 

Dean snorts. “He had my baby. When you do something like that for me, you can have my pie, too.”

“I would not advise reproducing with your brother,” Castiel says. “Children born of incest often have genetic abnormalities.”

There’s a thump that’s probably Dean’s head hitting one of the fridge’s shelves. “Thanks… we’ll keep that in mind,” Sam says weakly. “What do you eat, Cas? I’ve seen you eat burgers, and I guess you like pie… is there anything we should avoid?” If he hadn’t seen Castiel inhale burgers while under Famine’s influence, he’d worry the angel might be the type to refuse to eat God’s creatures. But Castiel hadn’t exhibited any guilt over his gluttony, so Sam would bet that he’d eat pretty much anything.

“I should be fine with whatever is available,” Castiel says unenthusiastically. Then, “I do like pie.”

Dean practically beams. “You shoulda seen him eat that pie. If we find a pie eating competition with a monetary reward, we’re totally entering Cas. Easiest money we‘d ever make.” And Sam thinks that Dean would probably come in second place.

Sam looks down at his - nephew? Niece? What do you call your brother’s gender-neutral offspring? The Nephil’s eyes are divided between gazing up at Castiel, following Dean around the kitchen, and staring curiously up at Sam. The effect is disturbing. Also, he can’t help but notice it’s inherited Castiel’s disconcerting stare. Daylight hasn’t much improved its appearance, though the down on its wings - all three of them - has dried into a soft gray fluff, which is a marginal improvement. It’s still oozing, though, and Sam‘s not sure he wants those clothes back when Cas is done with them.

Dean pulls out a tray with about two dozen of the large brown, fresh-off-the-farm eggs, a block of cheese, and a sad-looking, slightly mushed green pepper. “How do you feel about omelets?” 

“I’ve never had an omelet,” Castiel replies. “But I’m not very picky about food at this time, so I imagine they’ll be adequate.”

And with that ringing endorsement, Dean sets to work. As he digs out the largest skillet he can find, Sam hunts through the freezer to see what else managed to survive the night. Most of the food near the freezer door is a lost cause, but wedged into a still-frosty corner is a package of bacon, which Sam tosses to his brother. He sorts through the rest of the contents and tosses out anything that isn’t salvageable.

Bobby’s not going to be thrilled with how much he’s going to have to replace. Especially if Cas really does have a bottomless pit for a stomach.

Not that Sam’s paying as much attention as he should; he’s simply using the task as an excuse to keep an eye on Dean and Cas. After Dean’s blow-up the previous night, Sam feels obligated to play mediator if there’s another argument - especially since he doubts Cas is up to defending himself.

Except… Dean seems to have slipped into the role of parent as easily as he’d slip into his boots. Not that it surprises Sam; after all, Dean had practically raised him, he’d had an excellent relationship with Ben, and Sam had dim memories of a case when he was soulless where Dean had taken care of a Shifter baby.

Dean had made an excellent point the previous night: if this had been some plot of Castiel’s to make them take him back into their home, then it would have been damned effective. Dean had always had a soft spot for children, even monster children (unless they’d already crossed a line and killed, anyway.) No matter how bizarre the Nephil looked, he’d take care of it.

“You seem pretty okay with this,” Sam whispers when Castiel is momentarily distracted explaining to the Nephil why it shouldn’t suck on his wings.

Dean shrugs. “It’s not like our lives are normal. Of course I’d end up having a tentacle eyeball baby with a male angel.” And before Sam can resume asking him just how that happened, Dean calls out, “So, have you thought of a name for the little guy?” as he cracks about half a dozen eggs into the pan.

Castiel’s chin sinks lower as he slumps forward. “No, and I don’t believe I could come up with something suitable. Creativity isn’t a trait common in angels, and any name I choose would be very simplistic, and likely come from the Nephil’s features.” He looks dejected by his inability to perform such a simple parental duty.

“Like naming a cat ‘Whiskers’ or a dog ‘Spot?’” Castiel nods miserably, and Dean pauses his cooking long enough to squeeze the angel’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Me and Sammy’ll pick a name for him.”

“Why do you call the Nephil ‘him’?” Castiel asks, cocking his head.

“Because calling him an ‘it’ makes him sound like an inanimate object, not a person. You don’t call your angel buddies ‘it,’ so why do you refer to the Nephil that way?” Sam asks reasonably.

“We use a neutral pronoun while in our true forms,” Castiel says. “But you are correct; when we take vessels, we refer to each other as ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’ based on the sex of our vessels. It does make humans more comfortable with us, I believe.” Castiel looks ready to say more, but the Nephil once again latches itself to his unseen wings and he‘s occupied with prying it off.

“So, what do you think?” Sam wonders just what the Hell was appropriate for a kid who was part angel, part Winchester, part Flying Spaghetti Monster. “Any ideas for a name?”

“Well, he does look like something straight out of Lovecraft. What about Cthulhu?” Sam can tell Dean isn’t serious, but Castiel shoots him a look of pure loathing.

“We are _not_ calling it ‘Cthulhu.’” Castiel’s voice is firm.

“Why not? We could call him Lou for short. Or Chuck.” Dean seems to the suggestion is reasonable; after all, the unholy offspring looks like it crawled its way out of some macabre horror novel.

“No.” The angel is practically growling now.

“How about Howard, then, after H. P. Lovecraft?” Sam suggests.

“I am not naming any child of mine Howard,” Dean says, aghast. “Naming a kid Howard is just cruel. All the other kids would beat him up!”

“Yeah, because the _name_ is what people will focus on when they see your tentacled monster baby,” Sam retorts. “It’s better than Chuck.”

“C’mon, Sammy, Chuck is an awesome name! How many Howards can kick ass like Chuck Norris?” Dean challenges.

“There’s also Chuck Shirley,” Sam counters. Chuck Shirley is pretty much the antithesis of Chuck Norris. “And up _chuck.” Which he’s going to do if Dean mentions Chuck Norris again. Sure, he’d been good, way back in the time of the dinosaurs, but Sam thinks his time is past. Dean’s just in denial._

_“All right, all right… I won‘t call him Chuck.”_

_“Still… Cthulhu? Really?” Sam snorts. “If you’re going to go all Eldritch Horror here, he looks more like Nyarlathotep, anyway.”_

_“No names that I can’t even pronounce, Sammy,” Dean says._

_“I do not want the Nephil to have a name associated with Lovecraft!” Castiel snarls._

_“Whoa, Cas… not a fan?” Dean sounds amused._

_“Howard Phillips Lovecraft was one of the rare humans who could see an angel’s true form and hear our voices, though not as clearly as some. There was an incident involving a demon possessed town where Lovecraft was passing through, and he and I came into contact. I attempted to reach out to him, but he could not hear me properly and mangled my name. And I believe he could only focus on my sea aspect, which may have made it difficult for him to believe I was an angel._

_“Shortly after that, he published ‘The Call of Cthulhu,’” Castiel concludes mournfully. “Uriel found the situation humorous.”_

_Sam can see Dean struggling to hold back his laughter, and failing miserably. “Cas…” Dean finally sputters, “Are you telling us that _you’re_ Cthulhu?”_

_“I may have been the inspiration,” Castiel corrects haughtily, “but I am _not_ Cthulhu.”_

_“Whatever, man. You’re an elktopus.”_

_“No Lovecraft, then. It was a joke, anyway.” Sam studies the Nephil again, and it seems to have decided to focus the entirety of its attention on Sam. It reaches a quivering tentacle towards him and Sam reaches for it, after a glance at Cas. The angel is watching him warily, but doesn’t seem about bring his smite on. The end of the delicate tentacle wraps around Sam’s large fingers. They feel velvety soft, not at all like what Sam was expecting._

_Dean sets a plate with the biggest, fluffiest omelet Sam had ever seen in front of Castiel. As the angel eyes it as though assessing its threat level, the Nephil probes at it with another tentacle. “Don’t eat it too quickly; I need time to make the next one. The bacon should be ready then, too.”_

_It never ceases to amaze Sam just how domestic his brother can be._

_“Something that suits a half-angel baby…” Sam muses thoughtfully. Maybe something with an  
-el at the end? “Nathaniel, maybe?” He tries to think of names that might not be attached to Cas’ douche bag siblings. “Ezekiel? Muriel?” Dean winces. Okay, not Muriel. “Joel? Ishmael?” _

_“Now you’re just making names up,” Dean accuses._

_“Ishmael _is_ a name. Read _Moby Dick._ “ Sam rolls his eyes. “Samuel is also a great name.”_

_“And no way my kid’s named after you. Unless you die heroically. And _stay_ dead.”_

_Sam feigns a pout. “I don’t hear you offering suggestions.”_

_Dean says quietly, “Honestly? I never thought about what I’d name a kid. I can’t think of anything that sounds ‘right,’ you know? Especially for an angel baby. I’m hoping that if you keep reeling names off, I’ll hear the perfect one.”_

_“Actually,” Castiel says hesitantly, “it doesn’t need to be an angelic name. I would like a name that would identify the Nephil as belonging to the both of us.”_

_“You mean, something like Destiel? Or maybe Deaniel?” Sam jokes. Then he blinks as he realizes there actually is a name there, and a good one, at that. “Or… Daniel.”_

_“I like Daniel.” Dean‘s eyes light up. “Daniel Winchester. Has a nice ring to it. What do you think, Cas? Daniel?”_

_“Daniel is a very nice name,” Castiel agrees. “It is biblical, and it is similar to both our own names. But I believe it is a boy’s name, yes? If you insist on assigning a gender to the Nephil, it is more properly a ‘she.’”_

_“She? You mean… she’s a girl?” Dean looks down at his child in surprise._

_“That is what ‘she’ implies,” Castiel says dryly._

_“Why didn’t you say so before? It’s important information to have when you’re naming a baby!”_

_“Like I said before, our genders our complicated. We‘re primarily gender neutral, because we lack many of the characteristics that would make us truly male or female, but we do have varying degree of male or female traits. The Nephil, while technically genderless, expresses some female traits. ”_

_“Soooo… which are you? ‘Cause you kinda implied last night that it was the girly angels who had babies.”_

_Dammit, Sam wishes Dean would hurry up and explain what happened between him and Cas!_

_“That is not necessary information, Dean.” The angel stabs his omelet as if it had offended him. “I’m close enough to being gender neutral that any gender characteristics I have are negligible.”_

_“Does his gender really matter? Male or female, he can still kick your ass,” Sam points out. Cas shoots Sam a grateful look._

_“Yeah, but… if Cas is really a chick…” Dean isn’t going to let this go, and Sam waits for Cas to give him a well-deserved smack. Or smiting._

_“Who is Chuck Norris?” Castiel interjects a little desperately, head tilted. It‘s clearly an attempt to change the subject. Sam gives him points for effort, even if his choice of subject matter makes Sam want to facepalm. “You’ve mentioned him before. Is he important?”_

_Dean sets the second massive omelet in front of Cas, along with a plate of bacon. “Who is Chuck Norris?” he repeats incredulously. He turns to Cas with a gleam in his eyes._

_Oh. _God_. Sam knows that look; Dean is going to tell an angel of the Lord _Chuck Norris jokes_. Sam‘s going to have to derail this, before Castiel is irreparably brain damaged trying to figure out how Chuck Norris could strangle someone with a cordless phone or cut a knife with butter. “What about Danielle?” he blurts out. When they all turn to look at him, he babbles, “You said you liked Daniel, right? The name still works for a girl.”_

_“Danielle Winchester,” Dean nods. “I like it. Sounds classy. What do you think, Cas? Still like the name for a girl?”_

_Castiel considers this for a moment. “Yes,” he says gravely, “it is a good name for her.”_

_They all stare down at Danielle who, oblivious to the momentous occasion, has fallen asleep in Castiel’s lap. Like this, with all her limbs pulled in around her and her eyes closed, she resembles a plate of gory spaghetti._

_Sam thinks she’s totally going to make a fortune in the horror movie special effects business._

_Dean pokes at a smaller omelet he’d cooked on a different burner, one that was slightly brown due to Dean paying more attention to Castiel’s food. He shrugs and cuts it in half, putting the halves on plates with a few slices of bacon, and hands one to Sam._

_As Sam eats, he thinks, not for the first time, _Dean is going to be an awesome father_. And he desperately hopes Dean‘s going to continue to get the chance to prove it, and that the feeling he has that this will all end badly is just paranoia, rather than a premonition._

_Dean doesn’t finish his omelet; he eats half, then sets the rest in front of Castiel, who immediately finishes it off._

_“Hey… does she eat?” Dean asks abruptly._

_Cas frowns. “She feeds off my Grace. It’s part of the reason I’m not recovering as quickly as I would otherwise.”_

_“Yeah,” Sam says, “but she’s half Dean and, trust me, _Dean eats_. A lot.”_

_Dean glowers. “What my brother’s trying to say, is that she’s half human, and might have human needs as well as angel ones.”_

_“I… I don’t know,” Castiel says softly, with an expression of growing horror. “Dean, _I don’t know!_ ” He rubs the back of his neck, showing more anxiety than Sam had ever seen the angel express. “I don’t know anything about babies - angelic or mortal! How am I going to take care of her?” He slumps, like he’s trying to curl in on himself but can’t with the Nephil in his lap. Sounding devastated, he whispers, “Perhaps it would have been kinder to put her out of her misery, after all, before I kill her through ignorance.”_

_“Hey, don’t you talk like that!” Dean snaps. “You’re new at this. No one expects you to know what you’re doing. And we’ll be here to help you.” Dean squeezes Castiel’s shoulder._

_“How?” Castiel demands. “You’ve never raised a Nephil.”_

_“Hey, I raised Sammy, didn’t I? And he turned out okay.”_

_“Sam started the Apocalypse. And drank demon blood. And fornicated with a demon,” Castiel points out._

_“Yeah, but he doesn’t do illegal drugs, he’s not in a gang or a cult, and he didn’t knock up a cheerleader. I think I did good job with him, considering,” Dean says, deadpan._

_“Thanks,” Sam mutters. But he supposes Dean is right; he has many strikes against him, and he’s somehow still managed to be one of the good guys. That‘s got to be a point in Dean‘s favor, right? “But he’s right, Cas; we’ll be here for you and Danielle. We won’t let anything happen to her,” he says fiercely._

_“Thank you,” Castiel whispers. He still doesn’t sound too certain, but his faith that they can help him raise a baby is touching._

_“I don’t think we have anything a baby can eat.” Dean opens the fridge again, though Sam knows he isn‘t going to find anything except beer and condiments, and something that‘s either components for some ritual or month-old chili on the verge of evolving sentience._

_“I had to throw away the milk,” Sam says apologetically. “Guess we’ll have to run into town to get some formula for her to try.”_

_The discussion about the best place to find formula in Sioux Falls - which, they assume, likely has power by now - is interrupted when Castiel nearly faceplants against the tabletop. The angel looks startled and dismayed by this, and scowls deeply._

_“Having trouble staying awake there, Cas?” Dean asks._

_“No.” But when he tries to stand, he sways on his feet and Dean barely manages to catch him before he swoons. “Yes,” he corrects himself reluctantly, as Sam comes up on his other side to help support him._

_“Let’s get you to the couch,” Dean says. “You can take a nap or whatever.”_

_“I’ve slept enough,” Cas grumbles, but he permits them to sit him on the couch._

_“Then don’t sleep,” Dean shrugs. “Just get off your feet before you fall of them.”_

_Despite Castiel’s protests, he does end up lying down, with Danielle tucked up on his chest. He even closes his eyes, but from the tension in his shoulders, it’s obvious he’s not sleeping._

_The head to the next room, sitting where they can keep an eye on Cas but still give him some space._

_“Think angels get post-partum depression?” Dean asks. Under different circumstances, the question would sound a little douche-y coming out of his brother’s mouth. But now, he sounds genuinely concerned for Castiel’s welfare._

_“How would I know?” Sam wonders why his brother thinks he‘s the expert here. It’s not as if he’d had Angel Reproduction 101 in Stanford. He glances back toward Cas, who’d opened his eyes again and had angled his head so he could watch the sleeping Nephil. He has the same hopeless, bewildered expression he’d had when he’d first woken up. “But he’s been through a lot, so it’s no surprise he’s not himself.”_

_“You have no idea,” Dean smiles sadly. “On the bright side, at least we know he’s not a threat anymore. No way he’s cracking the door to Purgatory like this.”_

_“Speaking of Purgatory…” Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam presses, “Crowley’s not going to just give it up just because Castiel‘s on maternity leave, Dean. We still need to find out how to stop him from opening the doorway.” Sam picks up the book he’d been reading the previous night before it had gotten too dark, and Dean picks up a book at random from the nearest ‘to read’ stack, and they get to work._

_Or at least, they try to. After skimming a few pages, Sam finds himself pushing the book aside and picking up one he remembers as having a section on Nephilim. When he sneaks a glance at Dean, he realizes his brother had the same idea, because he’s now poring through a book of angel lore._

_They’ve been at it for nearly an hour when they hear the sound of an engine pulling up the drive: Bobby, finally back from his errand._

_“Why’s Cas sleepin’ on the couch with the son of the Blob?” are Bobby’s first words when he finds Sam and Dean._

_“I don’t think he’s actually sleeping,” Dean deflects. “He’s just pretending until he decides if you’re a threat or not.”_

_“That depends, don’t it? Before I left, we agreed he was Public Enemy Number One. Now he’s in my supposedly angel-proofed house and taking up room on my couch.”_

_“Yeah… turns out we suck at angel-proofing.”_

_“You boys wanna explain why we’re talking to the angel again?” Bobby demands._

_“Uh…” Dean tries. “Er…” He’s completely at a loss. Sam can understand; there’s really no good way to say your supposedly male angel friend is now your baby mama. He turns to Sam, silently asking, _A little help, here?_ _

_No way. Sam’s gonna sit back and watch while Dean fumbles through this one on his own. He just wishes he had popcorn._

_After a few false starts, Dean finally manages, “Cas sorta… had a baby last night.”_

_“So that thing’s an angel baby? Huh.” He doesn’t sound as shocked as he should have. Then again, this is _Bobby_. “Not quite what I would’ve expected.”_

_“She’s a Nephil, actually,” Sam corrects. Yeah, he’d planned to stay out of this, but if he left it up to Dean to remember the name, he’d probably end up calling her a ‘nympho’ or something._

_“A Nephil? Nephilim are half human.” Bobby’s eyes narrow. “What did you do, Dean?”_

_“Me?” Dean holds up his hands defensively. “Why do you think I did anything?”_

_Bobby just arches a skeptical eyebrow. “’Cause I know you, and ’cause you and that angel share a ‘profound bond,’” he says dryly._

_Dean shoots Sam a dirty look. Sam says innocently, “I was soulless when I told him about that. I guess I thought it was funny.”_

_“Plus, you’re pretty much the only human Cas spends any time with. He ain’t exactly the type to have one night stands with strangers, so it’s gotta be yours.”_

_“There’s Sam - ”_

_“He thinks I’m an abomination,” Sam says helpfully._

_“And you,” Dean points at Bobby._

_Bobby snorts. Sam winces. Yeah… _that_ was an image that was going to haunt him._

_Dean gives up. “Okay… so, maybe… she kinda is mine.”_

_“I figured it was only a matter of time before you slept with the wrong being and ended up with a half-monster baby,” Bobby sighs. “I just wasn’t expectin’ Cas to be the mom.”_

_“Yeah… neither was he,” Sam says._

_“How the hell does that even happen?” Bobby asks. “You two idjits even consider that Cas might be up to somethin‘, or was all forgiven just ‘cause he has a baby?”_

_Dean glowers. “Give me some credit, Bobby. That was my first thought. But… it’s not like that.”_

_“So why are we trusting him?”_

_So Dean explains. Tells them about Castiel’s encounters with Raphael, and the role the archangel plays in angelic pregnancy and birth, and how the birth of a Nephil is such anathema that Cas’ own people would execute him and Danielle on sight._

_Finally, Sam has the explanation he’s been waiting for, and it’s one that leaves him cold. He’d honestly been expecting to hear about a drunken encounter between Dean and Castiel (Dean had been damn determined for him to lose his v-card, after all), or that angels went into heat and Dean had been Cas‘ only option, or maybe even something inane like conception through osmosis. Something cute he can tease Dean about for all eternity, something he can tell embarrassing stories about to his odd-but-weirdly-adorable niece._

_But this? This was an act of war with devastating consequences for Castiel and Danielle, and the humans Cas has been working so hard to defend. And it’s no wonder Cas looks like a wreck; if this had happened after he’d pulled Sam’s body out of the Cage, then Castiel had been carrying and nurturing Danielle for _two years_ without knowing._

_Poor Cas._

_“Kinda hard to stay mad at him after hearin’ that. Balls,” Bobby mutters._

__Yeah_ , Sam thinks, _that about sums it up.__

_~tbc~_

_Originally, the Nephil was going to be male, and named Daniel. But then I found one kid!fic where Dean and Cas had a kid with that name. Then another. And another. It seems to be the second name choice after ‘John.’ But I’d already written quite a bit and thought of the Nephil as Daniel so I figured, screw it, I’d keep the name, but make the Nephil a girl._

_And sorry this took so long; I got sidetracked preparing for the Chicago Supernatural convention. But the next chapter is nearly done, so I’ll try to have it up by this weekend._


	4. Sweet Child o' Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean is too much of a man to push a shopping car but isn’t ashamed to express Real, Meaningful Feelings in the baby aisle, Castiel continues to show a disturbing lack of modesty, and plot finally rears up its hoary head and makes life difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did intend to get this up over the weekend, but I forgot just how much GISHWHES destroys lives. Or free time, anyway. Plus, these freaking chapters just get longer and longer.

Bobby sends them to Wal-Mart. Dean hadn’t wanted to leave Castiel, especially since the angel had had another near panic attack when Dean had asked if he could think of anything else the Nephil might need and he‘d been completely clueless. But because Dean has some knowledge of a baby’s needs, and because Dean and Sam are clearly idjits who don’t know how to set up a generator so the food wouldn’t spoil in the first place, and because Bobby had said that since it’s Dean’s fault (which it totally _isn’t_ ) that they have Heaven’s little black hole to feed, Dean gets to be the one to shop for food. 

And Sam has to go because Dean totally refuses to be seen pushing the shopping cart.

But the real truth is: Bobby wants to get Castiel alone. He’d assured them that he wouldn’t harm the angel, but he wants to question him without the brothers around; he believes Cas may be more honest if Dean isn‘t there to judge him. Dean reluctantly agrees, because Purgatory is still a big issue, and they need to know everything they can. So, much as he’d hated to leave, he and Sam had headed off into downtown Sioux Falls.

He’ll make it up to Cas, though… maybe pick up another pie. Or ice cream. 

Sam’s got that anxious look, like a puppy who really has to pee. He’s been desperate to discuss Feelings from the moment they’d pulled out of Bobby’s yard, and Dean had only held him off by blasting Zeppelin. No such option now, though. They’d picked up the items on Bobby’s list - cheap foods that they could make large quantities of - and now they’re in the baby aisle, examining the selection of formula.

It’s not cheap. Dean really, _really_ hopes Danielle didn’t inherit Castiel’s appetite.

“Spit it out before you rupture something,” Dean says finally.

“You’ve been pretty quiet about all this. How are you doing? Really? This is a lot to have dropped on you.”

“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who had a Nephil _rip its way out of me,_ ” Dean snorts.

“I’m just… surprised at how you’re taking this. How calmly,” Sam prods. “We didn’t exactly part from Cas on the best of terms, and now here we are, taking care of him and his _baby._ ”

Great. His brother is in one of his ‘let’s not just talk about our feelings, let’s analyze them and beat them to death with a stick’ moods. Dean suspects that Sam’s hoping one day he can get his big brother to break down and cry on his shoulder.

Totally not happening. Especially not in a freaking Wal-Mart.

“How am I supposed to react? You think I should be angry? Hell yeah, I’m upset. Castiel’s been involved in some bad shit, and he hasn’t hesitated to use us for his own gain. And now we’re stuck with him and a baby he can’t quite deal with, which basically leaves me to make up for his ignorance. But what am I supposed to do, leave them to fend for themselves? You’ve seen how Cas is; he can barely stay upright. He wouldn’t have a chance against his dick brothers. He might believe he can handle it, but first time he faced off with another angel, he’d die, and so would Danielle.

“He’s a victim in all this, and I’m not going to punish him for something that was done to him. And… even after all he’s done, he’s still like a brother to me, and I don’t abandon family when they need me.”

From the way Sam beams, that’s obviously what he’d been hoping to hear when he‘d prodded Dean. Dean rolls his eyes.

“I tell ya, though… I do hate Raphael helluva lot more, though, and if that bastard were here, I’d probably get myself killed trying to gank him.” Dean grabs a pack of pacifiers as well, because he suspects Cas won‘t tolerate the Nephil sucking on his wings for much longer.

“I’m gonna do everything I can to help Cas and Danielle; no matter how difficult it may be. Yeah, she’s kinda ugly, and yeah, it’d be easier if she were a cute little baby - with _wings_ because that would be totally badass - but… she’s really sweet and innocent. And she’s family; it doesn’t matter what she looks like.” Dean’s lips twitch. “I have a Sasquatch brother with girly hair and a probably transvestite octopus-elk-bird-thing as a best friend who is now the mother of my child, so, really, Dani fits right in.”

What else will she need? Dean thinks. Not diapers; they wouldn’t fit her bizarre body. And Dean really hopes she takes after Cas and doesn’t need them, anyway, because he just can’t imagine Castiel changing a diaper. Dean turns and makes a beeline for the baby blankets. He doesn’t know what the Nephil will require, but he figures blankets are a safe bet. He grabs several of the softest ones in various colors (except pink, of course. No way in Hell will Dean’s daughter be seen in pink.)

On his way, he passes a pair of women who give him venomous looks as they shove past him. Dean stares after them, baffled, before turning to his brother. “Why were they looking at me like that?” Dean asks blankly.

“Dude, you were just talking about how ugly your baby is. Most people don’t respond too well to that sort of thing.”

Dean scowls. “And of course they didn’t hear the part about me doing everything I can to protect her.”

“What, are you seriously thinking of picking up a woman now? When you’re shopping for your baby? Dude, that‘s so wrong.” Sam shakes his head.

Dean opens his mouth to protest, then snaps it shut again. Honestly, he’s not thinking about sex at all - he’d reacted because he’d been offended that they probably though him the worst sort of deadbeat dad. If only they knew… Instead, Dean turns his attention to the rack of plush toys.

“So… what do you think? Octopus or angel bear?” Dean holds up two stuffed animals.

Sam stares at Dean like he’s lost his mind.

“I like the octopus… looks more like her, doesn’t it?” Dean studies the purple stuffed animal. It has googly eyes and a chubby-cheeked grin, and its tentacles are flexible and tipped with Velcro. “And clearly, angels don’t resemble bears.” He doesn’t wait for Sam’s response, simply tossing the stuffed octopus into the cart.

“You think she’s ready for toys? She’s not even a day old yet.”

“Well, Dani tends to keep a couple of tentacles wrapped around Cas. I thought maybe she’d like toys she could get a grip on.” Dean shrugs. Sam’s lips twitch, and Dean frowns. “What?” he demands.

“Nothing. It’s just… I love that you actually noticed that. You’re loving this, aren’t you? Having someone to care for?”

“What are you talking about? I have you to take care of,” Dean huffs. “You’re hopeless without me.”

Sam looks about to argue, then gives up. “What are you paying for all this with?” Sam asks. “You’re not using all our money, are you?”

They’d hustled pool the night before arriving at Bobby’s, because they wouldn’t commit credit card fraud in Sioux Falls - too close to home. They currently have enough money to support themselves during their next hunt without having to resort to fraud or hustling. So, yeah… Dean’s probably going to spend it all on Danielle and Castiel. Sam would just have to deal with not being able to afford his stupid herbal shampoos and allergen-free laundry detergent.

After picking up everything he can think of that Danielle might need, Dean picks up some treats for Castiel. He ends up randomly picking out three different flavors of ice cream, since it‘s on sale and choices will give Cas a chance to discover what he likes, and even buys cupcakes to celebrate his daughter’s birth because Sam had whined that pie wasn‘t a proper birthday food. _Pink_ cupcakes, even, because that’s all they had.

The things he does for family.

~oOo~

It shocks Castiel just how upset he feels when Dean leaves.

It’s not being alone with Bobby that bothers him; he knows the older hunter intends to interrogate him, and he’s prepared for that. No, it’s that he wants Dean close by to give him the illusion of protection. And by feeding Castiel breakfast, Dean had established himself as Castiel’s provider, a realization that makes Castiel uncomfortable. And he doesn‘t think Dean will be pleased to learn he‘s had this role thrust upon him. 

Not that it matters what Dean would think. It’s Dean Castiel needs to make him feel safe. It’s Dean who’s helping him maintain his suffering vessel and his wounded Grace. And it’s Dean who’d helped him identify the emotion coming from Danielle as hunger for nourishment besides what she receives from his Grace. Clearly, Dean is going to be the parent that manages to keep Castiel from accidentally killing his offspring.

If Danielle hadn’t been fast asleep on his chest, Castiel knows he would be on his feet and pacing, with his eyes glued to window as he waited for Dean to return. 

He can’t believe he’s been reduced to this. Castiel has been a soldier almost since his creation; he’s fierce, fearless, a warrior of God. He’d even been a leader of his garrison, when Anael had chosen to fall. Once, he’d been formidable. And now he’s weak, defenseless, terrified of being alone, and responsible for an utterly dependent new being that he has no idea how to care for.

He _hates_ it, being like this. And he can no longer find solace in believing this was simply God’s will; he’s no longer that angel. Raphael had _done this to him_ , twisting what should have been a gift of their Father into an abomination, violating the free will Castiel had worked so hard to develop.

He’s scared. There’s no denying it. He’s scared to be alone, scared that Raphael will find him in another unguarded moment and do something else to him. Raphael has been a healer for millennia; it makes him a very creative and effective torturer.

It’s why he’d _needed_ to sleep next to Dean the previous night. For the first time in Castiel’s memory, he’d needed to feel protected and safe, he and the Nephil.

And now that he’s sprawled on the couch, alone except for the dozing Danielle and the disgruntled Bobby, he finds he can’t relax. Especially since Bobby chooses that moment to stand over him and glare downward. Castiel meets his gaze unflinchingly.

“You plannin’ on stopping us?”

Castiel heaves a sigh. “I’m out of the fight, likely for good. I still want Raphael stopped by any means necessary, however, and you, Dean, and Sam are my best bet.”

Bobby doesn’t look convinced, which isn’t unexpected. Dean and Sam hadn’t reacted very well, but they’d at least once called Castiel ‘friend,’ and had at least given him a chance. Bobby is understandably warier. He’s not as close to Castiel, and had even baldly stated that he‘d never really trusted the angel. 

“Not what you said last time we talked,” Bobby said flatly. “You wanted us out of the way. And now you’re here with your little bundle of joy, and expecting us to help you take care of it.”

Castiel bristles. “The Nephil is my child with Dean,” he says defensively. “He is taking care of her because she is family. And I would have left, if Dean had rejected us.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that the baby is yours and Dean’s - you’re not exactly the promiscuous type. I’m just wonderin’ if you did this to yourself on purpose, to win the boys over, maybe keep ‘em busy while you went through with your plan to pop Purgatory.”

“No!” Castiel reels back, stunned. Bobby believes Castiel would catastrophically sabotage his plans like this on _purpose_? “I assure you,” he says stiffly, “the Nephil’s birth was entirely unplanned - and unwelcome.”

“It‘s just a hell of a coincidence, you comin’ to us with the baby the night after we find out your big plan.”

Castiel wrinkles his brow. “The timing is suspicious,” he admits, “but it was merely coincidence.

“There’s no tactical advantage in this. My Grace is shredded, my powers are drained, I can’t even fly at the moment… I’m completely vulnerable. Perhaps this gives me an opportunity to regain Dean and Sam’s trust, yes, but their feelings toward me would have made little difference in the long run. I no longer have the power to wield the Purgatory souls; I can’t even defend myself if one of Raphael’s lackeys comes after me. 

“Worse, it also resulted in the perfect hostage for my good behavior. I would be quite… distressed, if something were to happen to Danielle, and I wouldn’t put it past Raphael or Crowley to use her against me.” Castiel shakes his head. “No, doing this to myself on purpose would be foolish. Better that I just surrender to Raphael than bear the Nephil; the consequences would be less dire.”

It actually bothers him to speak so candidly about Danielle when she’s curled so lovingly against him, but it’s the truth, nonetheless. Her existence is an inconvenience at best, a death sentence at worst.

“But if you don’t trust me, I can take Danielle and leave.” The thought of being alone out there makes him ill, but he’ll do whatever it takes to keep his child safe. He won’t keep Danielle in a hostile environment. He just has no idea how he can accomplish this, since at the moment, he doubts he could manage a short flight to the next room. “If you’ll just give me a few days to rest first so I have a chance -”

“I’m not gonna throw you out, Cas,” Bobby says, exasperated.

Castiel doesn’t dare believe this. He wouldn’t shelter a perceived traitor in his home. “You’re not?” he asks warily. “Why?”

“Aside from the fact that Dean would kill me if I booted you out? Because, you idjit, I’m a decent human being, and no decent human being would throw a new mother and baby out on the streets, or wherever it is you’d end up. Don‘t mean I completely trust you, but you‘re safe here.”

And that’s more than Castiel had hoped for. He hadn’t realized how tense he actually was until he relaxes fully into the cushions. Danielle snuggles more firmly against his chest, and wraps a limb around his arm.

“You mind tellin’ me what’s so special about this particular book?” Bobby brandishes a sheaf of papers. “It’s a copy of the one you stole the other night.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. When Bobby folds his arms over his chest and glares, Castiel continues, “I took it on a hunch.”

“Based on…?” Bobby prods.

“On March 10, 1937, a small door to Purgatory was opened. We could feel it, all the angels in my garrison, and we immediately sent out scouts to find it. It closed before we could determine its location; we only knew it happened somewhere on the Eastern seaboard. When the doorway wasn’t reopened, we assumed those responsible had perished, taking the secret to opening the door with them, and we stopped the search - though we did keep a lookout, just in case.

“A doorway like that would attract attention - the kind of attention that would draw a hunter. Hunters are very thorough in their research, and the Campbells were working the East coast at the time, so I thought it possible that this Moishe Campbell may have investigated any strange activity resulting from the open gateway, and perhaps I’d find a lead.”

“Not much to go on,” Bobby sighs, removing his cap to run his hand through his hair in frustration.

“No… but it’s the best lead I’ve had in months.”

Bobby takes the photocopies and sits in a chair across the room, where he can keep an eye on Castiel. It’s unnecessary; Castiel believes he’s established that he’s no threat, even if he’d wanted to be. But he supposes it’s a human instinct, to watch over a mother and child.

Danielle stirs, and her eyes start to open, one by one. Seeing Castiel’s attention is on her, she peeps sleepily and reaches out to brush several limbs against his face, reassuring herself that he‘s there for her. 

Unlike over the past two years, when he’d been completely oblivious to her presence within him. He suspects she would have benefited from some pre-natal attention.

Satisfied that Castiel isn’t going anywhere, Danielle wriggles around until she can settles against his abdomen to siphon off his Grace. 

When his Grace becomes depleted, Castiel instinctively anchors himself to his vessel, meaning he feels its aches and pains more acutely, as he’d discovered when he’d woken up in a hospital near Delacroix. And when Danielle had ripped her way through his vessel, she’d dislodged or torn several organs, and the pain is intense. Enmeshed as he is within his vessel, he can feel every displaced and damaged organ within him, and the Nephil isn’t helping matters. 

She likes to settle on his stomach, right over the tear she’d emerged from. He assumes it’s because the barrier of flesh cloaking his true form is thinnest there, making it easier for her to draw Grace from him to feed. It’s extremely uncomfortable, and he thinks he even whimpers slightly when Danielle shifts and forcefully presses into his gut.

Bobby looks up from the page in his hand. “Now what’s wrong?”

Castiel hadn’t realized he was being so obvious with his pain. “It hurts, where Danielle broke through my vessel. It’s not healing as quickly as I am accustomed to. It makes it very difficult to get comfortable.”

Bobby _humphs_ , then gets up and heads into the kitchen. He putters around for awhile, and Castiel loses interest, focusing instead on Danielle, who has begun anxiously nipping at his wings again in what he now realizes is an attempt to find something to feed her physical hunger. His feathers may exist as little more than shadows on this plane, but they’re showing obvious wear from her nibbling in the form of damaged or missing quills.

Bobby emerges from the kitchen, holding what looks like a large, leathery flask that sloshes beneath his grip. He holds it out to Castiel, who stares at the offering uncertainly. He’s pretty sure it’s not some ritual item, but beyond that, he has no clue what it is.

“What is it?” Castiel asks, baffled.

“It’s a hot water bottle. Should help with the aching a bit. Go on, it ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Castiel accepts it and, with a glance at Bobby to make sure he’s doing it right, he sets it across his healing stomach. The heat immediately soaks into his skin, and he breathes a soft “Oh,” of surprise. He’s so distracted by the unexpected relief that, for a moment, his attention slips from the Nephil.

She immediately takes advantage of his inattention and begins undulating towards Bobby, all eyes on him. Castiel tenses as Bobby takes a step back, a barely concealed expression of disgust. “I’m sorry,” he says, attempting to pull the Nephil back and struggling to ignore the piping cries of distress that tugs at his protective instincts. “She doesn’t understand most will find her appearance revolting, and that not everyone will welcome her affection.” 

Bobby looks as if someone had just slapped him. “Dammit… Sorry, Cas, she’s just… hard to take in,” Bobby says softly, watching the Nephil with a wary fascination. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Castiel says. Though he thinks he’d prefer if Bobby did. “I’m aware that she doesn’t conform to human standards of beauty. Even I find her appearance repugnant. But she has no control over how she looks, and I’m growing used to her.” 

Something about that makes Bobby wilt. “Balls,” he mutters. “Guess we’ll have to get to know each other eventually, so might as well start now.” He holds his hands out and, with a squeak, Danielle again lurches towards him and grabs at his fingers with eager limbs.

“She wants to be picked up,” Castiel says nervously. It’s one thing to let Dean handle Danielle - he is her father, after all - but Bobby is another matter entirely. It’s all he can do to keep from drawing his angel blade.

Bobby carefully lifts her to his chest, and the Nephil immediately presses in to him. Most of her eyes are fixed on Bobby’s face, while the rest are glued to Castiel.

“I didn‘t mean to imply your kid’s ugly, Cas… I should know by now not to judge by appearance. She ain’t pretty to look at, but she’s a sweet little thing, ain’t she?” he murmurs as she nuzzles into his neck, chirping happily.

“She doesn’t know not to trust anyone,” Castiel says grudgingly. And he feels sad that, one day, she’ll discover that all of Heaven, Hell, and Earth would view her with hatred and revulsion. “And she likes you. Yours is one of the voices she knows from her time within me.”

“Which just makes me feel worse,” Bobby sighs. “Sorry, kid,” he tells the Nephil. “You deserve a lot better than a gruff old drunk as family.”

Castiel disagrees. Bobby is far better for her than an ignorant angel and his Host of murderous siblings. He’s about to tell Bobby this when the hunter abruptly turns from Castiel and begins to walk away.

As the distance between them increases, Castiel feels overwhelming panic. “Where are you taking her?” He struggles into a sitting position and tries to gather his legs beneath him, but fails.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right!” Bobby says soothingly. “I was just gettin’ a chair. I’m not going anywhere, see?” He drags the chair over to the couch and sits, feet up on the table and Danielle cooing contentedly in his lap. “She’ll be right here; just thought maybe I’d hold her a bit so you could get a break from her.”

Castiel flops back onto the couch, chin resting on the arm so he can keep an eye on his offspring, the water bottle pressed to his stomach. It is a relief not to have her sitting on his aching belly, but… he misses her presence already. He hasn’t even had her for a day yet, and he’s already so used to her being in his arms.

Unlike Dean or Sam, Bobby doesn’t seem too bothered by Castiel’s anxious staring. He’s focused on his reading, occasionally glancing down to murmur to the curious Danielle. She’s probing at his face, seemingly fascinated by his beard and hat. When she accidentally dislodges the trucker cap, Bobby places it atop the Nephil, and she squeaks with surprise, but makes no effort to remove it.

“I was thinkin’,” Bobby says slowly, putting aside the book, “what you were saying before the boys left, ‘bout not having a clue how to take care of a baby and all. I have a friend who may be able to offer some advice. She’s not a hunter, but she knows about the supernatural and she’s even helped us out a time or two. Jody might be willing to come and give you a crash course in raising a kid.”

Castiel stiffens at the thought of letting a stranger near Danielle, but he reluctantly acknowledges that he can’t do this alone, and there’s only so much help Dean and Sam can give him.

Seeing that Castiel is torn, Bobby continues, “We’d test her thoroughly, of course, before letting her anywhere near Danielle, and if you feel uncomfortable with her, then you can send her away. I’m not gonna force you to talk to her… but I think she could help you.”

“I could use some assistance,” Castiel agrees reluctantly. “I was never even a child myself; I have no idea what I am doing.” Still, he’s terrified how he’s going to react to a stranger coming near his baby.

Then Bobby decides to sweeten the pot. “I’ll tell her to bring hamburgers. Lots of ‘em.”

There’s no way Castiel can refuse after that.

~oOo~

The power’s on by the time they return. They find Bobby at the kitchen sink, muttering over how many dishes they’d managed to dirty in just one day. There’s no sign of Cas or Danielle. As soon as Dean enters the kitchen with the first load of groceries, Bobby grunts, “’bout time you got back. The angel’s been going crazy waiting for you.”

Dean notices that Bobby’s shirt has a slight, slimy sheen, and he hides a grin. It seems Danielle had been working her charms on the gruff older hunter. “Where is he?” Dean asks.

“Sent him upstairs as soon as the power came on. He’s in a lot of pain, so I suggested he try a hot bath. He‘s been up there ‘bout an hour now, so it must be helping.”

Dean heads upstairs, leaving Sam to bring in the rest of the groceries alone. He plans to knock on the door and tell Cas he’s back with the formula, but the door is wide open - dammit, Cas! - and he can’t help but take in the sight before him. And _panic_.

Danielle is floating motionless in the tub.

Castiel is kneeling beside the tub, staring impassively at the lifeless lump that is his offspring.

“Cas, what the hell?!” Dean lunges for Danielle, but Castiel grabs his wrist and pulls him back.

“Danielle’s in no danger,” Castiel says calmly. “In fact, she likes the water.”

At his words, the Nephil suddenly begins thrashing around, splashing water all over Dean and Cas, as well as the walls, the tile floor, and even the ceiling. The action is accompanied by something that flutters at the edge of Dean’s awareness, something that makes him smile without knowing why.

“She’s laughing,” Cas says, awed.

“Is that what that is?” Dean grins, eyes on the floating lump as she stills again, trailing her appendages through the water like a hunting jellyfish. So… _Octopus-elk-jellyfish-human, then. Awesome._

“Her emotions are very human,” Cas says. 

“Is that good?”

“The Nephilim of ancient times took after their fallen angel parents. They had a superiority complex, and little empathy for humans. They were a danger to humankind, and Father was right to rid the world of them. But Danielle…” Castiel’s hand reaches out, and he strokes one of the Nephil’s sodden wings. “She seems to be the complete opposite of them.” He smiles at Dean. “That is _very_ good.”

Dean thinks about the reading he’d done on Nephilim, about how they were monsters that had had to be put down. Knowing his daughter shares nothing in common with them beyond a similar parentage lifts a weight from Dean’s shoulders. There had been a part of him that was terrified someone (not him, he couldn’t do it) would one day have to hunt his daughter. 

Dean turns to Cas, intending to make a comment to that effect, when he finally notices something he wishes he’d caught on to before.

Castiel is completely, unashamedly naked.

“Jesus, Cas! _Towel_!”

The angel stares at him blankly for a moment, then hands Dean the threadbare blue towel that had been neatly folded on the toilet, now soggy from Danielle‘s play. Dean rolls his eyes and grabs the towel, then winds it around Castiel’s waist and ties it off at his hip. “Oh,” is all Castiel says.

Dean’s about to lecture him on nudity taboos and how dudes just didn’t want to see other dudes’ junk, but gives it up as a lost cause. After all, Cas has provided irrefutable evidence that he isn’t exactly a dude and, besides, any clothing he’d wear would just end up as soaked through as Dean’s.

And it does give Dean an opportunity to study Castiel, to see just how he‘s been effected. On the drive back, Sam had mentioned that Cas looked far too thin. Now that he has the chance to see Cas without his clothing, he can see his brother is right; Castiel’s ribs are clearly visible, and the hollows of his collarbones are deep enough to collect water. Obviously, carrying a Nephil unawares is rough on the vessel as well as the angel.

Castiel meets his eyes and tilts his head, clearly wonder what Dean’s looking at. Embarrassed at being caught staring, Dean starts to avert his gaze, when his attention is drawn to the scars on Castiel’s chest. The angel banishing sigil that Dean had helped carved into his flesh back in Van Nuys is still there, an angry red against the pale white of his skin. The wound is closed, but the edges are still as sharp as if they were newly cut. “Is that ever going to heal?” 

“No. The damage isn’t just to my vessel; it burned right through to my Grace.”

“And this one.” Dean points to a ragged, half-healed wound that begins about an inch above his right hip, runs just under Castiel’s navel and ends at the point of his left hip. “It looks recent. Is that where…?”

“Where Danielle emerged? Yes,” Castiel absently strokes the puckered flesh. “I’m lucky that the tear wasn’t larger.”

“It looks like she ripped you in half!”

“Nearly,” Castiel agrees placidly. “She didn’t mean to, Dean. If I had known she was there, I would have eased her passage and minimized the damage.”

“How’s Jimmy gonna feel about this?” Dean snorts. “You’re not exactly keeping his body in factory condition.”

“Jimmy won’t care… he’s gone.”

“He died?” Dean winces; another life he hadn’t been able to save.

“I haven’t felt his presence since Raphael killed me. I presume his soul has passed on.” Castiel stares down at Danielle. “I hope he receives the reward he deserves.”

Dean hopes so, too, but he’s been to Heaven, and it’s not as great as he’d always heard. He decides to change the subject. “I got the formula. Ready to see if Danielle will drink it?”

Scooping Danielle out of the water is like trying to get a grip on a jellyfish. She oozes out of his fingers, all the while radiating delight at his failed attempts. After a few minutes, Dean is soaked through, and Danielle is no closer to being caught. There’s a faint huff from behind him which at first Dean thinks is exasperation, until he turns and sees the small smile on the angel’s face. Castiel is laughing.

Finally, Castiel intervenes, and Dean can feel Danielle’s disappointment as Castiel fishes her out and pulls her to his chest. It turns out she absorbs water like a sponge, and Castiel has to gently squeeze her until she‘s back to her normal size. 

Dean’s daughter is _weird._

They change clothes before heading downstairs; Dean’s wet clothes stick to him like a second skin, Sam’s borrowed clothing is also a sodden victim of the Nephil monsoon, and Castiel’s customary suit is still damp from the rain, as well as sticky from Danielle. The angel looks less vulnerable in Dean’s worn jeans and a black T-shirt, which actually fit him, but he still looks strange without his trench coat.

The hot water bottle completes the look, stuck down the front of Castiel’s jeans so it can still press against his stomach while he has both hands on the Nephil. Clean and dry, they head downstairs.

It turns out Danielle does indeed drink formula, and that her stomach capacity is that of a human baby’s, rather than an angel’s. Thank goodness. Though feeding the Nephil is a process that’s going to haunt Dean’s nightmares; he’d assumed she’d be fed through the beaklike protrusion she uses to make noise and chew on Castiel’s wings. Instead, when she’d spotted food, an impossibly long, gaping maw had opened, a crooked orifice that threaded between her eyes and revealed three coiled, prehensile black tongues. She’d latched eagerly onto the nipple of the bottle and had sucked down the milk with a ferocious hunger that made Dean feel guilty he hadn’t considered her nutritional needs earlier. 

They also discover that Castiel prefers cupcakes over pie (Dean had been about to joke that Castiel couldn‘t be his friend anymore, then realized that might not go over well with the already skittish angel) and that his favorite flavor of ice cream is the chocolate chip cookie dough.

Castiel, meanwhile, seems to have developed narcolepsy; once he’s done inhaling the food, he looks ready to fall asleep again, and his obvious disgruntlement at this makes Dean hide a grin. But Dean supposes if something were feeding off his life essence, he’d be exhausted all the time, too.

Once Cas is again crashed out on the couch with Danielle, both seemingly dead to the world, Bobby herds them to the opposite side of the house, as far as they can get from Cas while still being close enough that the angel won’t feel alarmed if he wakes up alone. “Got a lead,” Bobby says, voice low.

Dean glances towards where he knows Castiel is still asleep. “We still not trusting Cas?”

“Nope. Not with this. Though… he did point me in the right direction,” Bobby admits. “Turns out Purgatory’s been opened before - by H. P. Lovecraft.”

Dean snorts. “Figures it’d be him.”

“Why‘s that? ‘Cause he wrote so much about doorways to other dimensions?”

“No… because Castiel is Cthulhu,” Dean says. 

Bobby arches an eyebrow. “Explains a lot,” he says. “Anyway, the good thing about it being Lovecraft is that the man exchanged a lot of long, detailed letters with others like him fascinated with the macabre. He may have written about how to open the door, or where he learned how to. A lot of his letters still exist, so we may be able to find somethin’.”

“I’m on it,” Sam says, heading to his laptop.

Dean is about to head back to the living room to do… he doesn’t know what, but it’s not going to be to watch Castiel and Danielle sleep, because Dean‘s not a creeper like some angels he can name. But Bobby stops him with, “Sherriff Mills is going to stop by in the next few days.”

“What did we do now?” Dean doesn’t think he broke any laws in Sioux Falls recently. So why would… “Bobby, _please_ tell me she’s not coming here for a booty call.” He’d seen the way Bobby had looked at the sheriff, and he really doesn’t need to think about that.

“She’s coming for the angel’s benefit. Cas don’t seem to be what you’d call a ‘natural parent‘,” Bobby says dryly. “I thought he’d benefit from advice from an actual mother, and Jody’s the only one I know who has experience with the supernatural.”

“Oh. Good point,” Dean concedes, though he’s a little hurt that Bobby doesn’t think he can handle it. After all, he’d practically raised Sam himself since he was four! Then again, there were probably physical and emotional aspects of motherhood that Dean had no experience with.

“There’s another reason I want Jody in on this,” Bobby says, glancing over to see if Castiel is still asleep, and lowering his voice. “If what Cas says about Danielle’s conception is true - and I have no reason to doubt him, so don’t look at me like that - then he’s essentially been violated. He’s taking it well, so for all I know angels can‘t grasp the concept, but personally, I think he’s still in shock and it just hasn’t had the chance to sink in yet. When it does, the result could be disastrous.”

Remembering how vehemently Castiel had reacted when Sam had asked if he’d been raped, Dean grimaces. “Yeah, he understands the concept, all right.” And he believes Castiel does realize that what was done to him falls into that category, though he’s taking things surprisingly well, considering. Which could just be the calm before the shit storm. “Think he’s heading towards a breakdown?” 

“It‘s possible,” Bobby says. “And if he is, Jody’s dealt with several victims of rape and abuse over the years; she’ll be able to help him better’n we can.”

Dean hopes so. Because an angelic meltdown has the potential to be catastrophic.

Sam’s voice interrupts them. “Got something.” He looks up from the laptop. “We have two possibilities, both in Rhode Island. Brown University’s got a big Lovecraft collection, and there’s a private collector we can question who prides himself as an expert in all things Lovecraft. Bobby and I are leaving in the morning, and we should get there in a couple of days.”

“Waitaminnit… You and Bobby?”

“Dean, you didn’t see ‘im when you two left to go shopping,” Bobby said. “Had a look like a puppy who’d just been abandoned, and he was listenin’ for the Impala the whole time I was talkin’ to him. If you were gone for a week, he‘d probably go nuts. Besides, that’s your kid, too. You can’t just leave them.”

“He can’t be that bad…” Dean says, but he’s uncertain. After all, Cas has been very clingy, not letting Dean out of his sight when he’s awake. It’s a frightening thought, that Castiel needs him that badly.

“Guess you’ll just have to see for yourself,” Bobby says. “Tell you what; you try goin’ out that door tomorrow, and if the angel don’t raise a fuss, I’ll stay behind. But I’m warning you, he’ll react badly to you leavin‘.”

With that, he heads off to make dinner, a huge batch of chili that looks as if should be able to feed an army but probably won’t do more than take the edge off Castiel’s hunger.

Dean isn’t sure how he feels about being left behind. He wants to go, to see this through to the end, and be there to protect Sam if needed. But he also doesn’t want to abandon Danielle, or the still-vulnerable Castiel, for that matter. He has too many memories of being left alone with Sam while their dad went off on a hunt, and he doesn’t want to do that to Danielle.

Dean wonders if Raphael had taken this into consideration when he’d chosen Dean’s soul to merge with Castiel’s Grace, if he’d intended for Dean to be taken out of the fight as well as Castiel. If so, he’s even more devious than they’d feared.

Dean really, _really_ hates that bastard.

Castiel wakes up long enough to polish off the rest of the chili, as well as the four cupcakes and pint of ice cream that Dean had managed to rescue from the angel‘s earlier binge.

Dean thinks about having the promised (threatened?) Chuck Norris marathon, but Castiel’s jaw-cracking yawn makes him realize the angel’s just too tired to appreciate the awesomeness. And Dean finds he’s exhausted as well. Understandably, he thinks; he may not have been the one to give birth, but he’s been through the emotional wringer pretty much non-stop since he’d found out about Cas’ plan to pop Purgatory.

“Ready for bed already, Cas?” Dean’s amused when Castiel growls in response. “Hey, man, it’s normal to need a lot of rest after a birth,” or so Dean assumes; it’s not that he has a lot of experience in the matter. “Your body’s been through a lot. I was thinking of turning in, myself.”

“I’ll just sleep down here tonight if you want the bed, Cas,” Sam looks up from the laptop resting on his knees long enough to give Castiel a warm smile. “Plenty of room for you and Danielle.”

“And what about you?” Castiel asks Dean. His tone sounds anxious, and Dean wonders what’s wrong now.

“I usually sleep on the couch while Gigantor has the floor,” Dean says.

“Then we will sleep down here as well,” Castiel says immediately.

“The bed’s more comfortable,” Sam says. “I don’t mind giving it up to you and Dani.”

Castiel turns to Dean and says, “Danielle and I would sleep better on a bed. But I wouldn‘t feel right putting you both out.” 

He’s staring desperately at Dean, willing him to understand what he‘s too proud to say.

Cas is afraid to sleep alone.

Shooting a look at Sam, who’s watching with raised eyebrows and barely-concealed grin, Dean says, “All right. We’ll both sleep in the bedroom. Floor’s not much harder than the couch would be, anyway.” He ignores Sam’s smirk as he picks up the sleeping bag stashed in the corner and follows Castiel upstairs.

Once in the bedroom, Castiel hands off Danielle to Dean and immediately begins fussing with the blankets on the bed. There’s no discernible sense in the way he’s pushing them around; Dean wonders if it’s some sort of nesting instinct that Cas doesn’t quite know what to do with. After about ten minutes of this, he seems satisfied with the mess he’s made of the bedding, and he takes Danielle and crawls to the far side of the bed, nearest the wall. Then he looks up expectantly at Dean.

Dean has no idea if he’s supposed to praise Cas for his efforts, so he just grins crookedly at the angel and shakes out the sleeping bag, laying it along the wall opposite the bed.

“What are you doing?” Castiel frowns.

“Setting up my bedding. I’m not sleeping on the bare floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the bed,” Castiel says, gesturing towards the empty half.

“You and Dani -” Dean begins.

“If you don’t sleep here, we’ll just end up on the floor with you,” Castiel says, shamefaced. “It’s the only way I’d feel safe enough to actually sleep.”

Well, now Dean feels guilty.

So Dean hops into bed, trying not to think about how this is the second night in a row he’s had Cas cuddling up to him as if desperately craving contact. Danielle wiggles out of Castiel’s arms and flops her way onto Dean’s chest with a happy humming noise, and makes herself comfortable.

Danielle is curled up in a ball over his heart, and Cas… Cas presses against Dean, his head tucked in the hollow of Dean’s neck. Um, _awkward._

“Cas, what are you - ”

“Shut up, Dean,” the angel growls into his neck.

Okay. Dean can deal with this. It’s not sexual; Cas simply wants to feel safe, Dean gets that. He just hopes Cas gets over the clingy stage soon, because too much more of this touchy-feely crap and Dean’s gonna grow boobs.

Still, he actually manages a deep, dreamless sleep that night and wakes up without an angel blade pressed to his throat. Progress.

 

~tbc~

 

No. That ending’s not schmoopy at all.

I’m trying to get chapters done as fast as I can, because I have a Christmas follow-up I want to do, but it’s hard because I’m also working on four Big Bangs, a handful of Christmas stories, and a couple of prompt fics. I may be too ambitious.


	5. Nobody's Fault But Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel becomes concerned about the effect of babies on rational adults, Dean copes by channeling his inner maid (who sadly isn’t French,) and Balthazar pays them a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this chapter, this story is about 52 pages long and has the highest word count of any of my stories. WTF? And it gets a bit frustrating at times making Castiel so vulnerable and needy. I love it when he’s all bad ass in the show, and I’m dying to write him that way.

Castiel wakes up feeling better than he has in a long time. Maybe there is something to ‘sleep’ after all, though he still hates it; spending hours in a state of oblivion, waking up with no idea where he is or what might have been _done to him_ while he slept… But the ache in his abdomen is less, and his Grace is brighter, though still shredded and hemorrhaging more than it should.

Dean is still asleep, but Danielle is awake, and she peeps a greeting when he slowly sits up. “Hello,” Castiel responds hesitantly, not certain what she wants of him. She’s still curled on Dean’s chest, and his shirt is soaked through from the slime she produces. When Castiel speaks, she squeaks and begins to uncurl herself, tentacles grasping for him. Castiel obligingly ducks his head, letting her feel that he is there for her. It seems this is going to become a ritual for her, Castiel realizes, this need to reassure herself that he is there.

Satisfied, she crawls into his arms, detaching herself from Dean’s shirt with a wet sucking sound that makes the other man jerk awake. Dean blinks for a few moments, then says, “What, no angel blade this morning?”

Castiel shrugs. “You kept still all night, so there was no appearance of a threat. In fact, you were a very good bed for Danielle. She was comfortable.”

Dean smiles at the Nephil nestled in Castiel’s arms. “Glad to know I have my uses.” He sits up and stretches, wincing when the shirt, which had been stuck to his skin, pulls free. “So, how you feelin’ this morning, Cas?”

Castiel responds with a growl. Why did they keep asking him that?

Dean grins. “You really hate that question, don’t you?”

“It was a violent birth that left me virtually powerless, in constant agony, and under a death sentence. Obviously, I am not all right.”

Dean’s face falls. “Sorry, man… It’s a human thing, I guess. We like to reassure ourselves that the people we care about are okay by asking.”

“And lying by saying you’re ’fine?’” Castiel asks. “If it reassures you, I am recovering. There is less pain, but still more than I am accustomed to experiencing.” He gets to his feet and is pleased by how much steadier he feels on them. The tear in his belly is still painful, however, and he’s impatient to get downstairs to ask Bobby to refresh the hot water bottle again.

“She slept through the night, didn’t she? So,” Dean muses as he slips out of bed, rummaging around until he finds a semi-clean shirt, “no 4am feedings for Dani then,” Dean sounds pleased. “And is it safe to assume that she doesn’t require diapers?”

“Danielle is far more efficient than humans when it comes to utilizing the nutrients in food. She uses everything, so there is no waste.” Castiel is relieved by this as well; incontinence sounds… messy.

Speaking of food… Danielle is sending off waves of ‘hunger’, and is eying his feathers speculatively. Castiel is ravenous as well, a condition that isn’t helped by a delicious scent wafting up the stairs. “What is that?” he asks, sniffing appreciatively.

“I think it’s pancakes,” Dean says. “And sausage.”

Despite his gnawing hunger, Castiel manages to resist the urge to fly to the kitchen. He needs to conserve his slowly-returning strength, so he follows Dean at a sedate pace down the stairs.

Bobby is leaning against the counter, scraping his fork against an empty plate to get the last of the crumbs. Off to the side, something round cooks on a skillet, turning a golden brown as Castiel watches. It smells wonderful. Bobby points his fork towards the table, where a plate piled high with pancakes is sitting. “Those are all for you, and whatever else I can make with what’s left of the batter. Go on, dig in.”

The hunter’s generosity towards Castiel in spite of his broken trust still astonishes him. He knows he did the right thing bringing Danielle here first, rather than immediately going into hiding.

Castiel wants to take a seat and devour the growing pile of pancakes on a plate in the middle of the table, but instead he follows along behind Dean as the hunter prepares a bottle of formula. Castiel hadn’t paid much attention the previous day to how it was done, but this time, he’s watching closely and committing it to memory. Angels have perfect recall, and Castiel will be able to do this on his own next time. Dean looks up when he’s finished and says, “I can feed her if you want to eat.” He gestures towards the food. Castiel’s stomach growls in response. “So that’s a yes, then?” Dean laughs.

Dean takes the chair next to Sam, Danielle in his arms sucking eagerly at her bottle, and Castiel sits beside him, in easy reach of the Nephil. The huge stack of pancakes is pushed in front of him, along with a dish of butter and a bottle of brown fluid. Castiel watches as Sam prepares his pancakes, watching how it‘s done.

He knows it’s not good manners to eat so quickly, but he can’t help himself; he’s through the stack before Sam has even eaten half of his far smaller portion, and the plate of sausage falls victim soon after. Danielle eats far more slowly, but she still finishes at the same time as Sam. Once the bottle is removed from her cavernous mouth, she fixes her gaze on her uncle curiously.

Realizing he’s the focus of her attention, Sam screws up his face, sticks out his tongue, and blows.

Castiel stares at him, wondering if Sam has lost his mind.

Then Danielle laughs, and Castiel is left wondering about her mental state as well. “What are you doing?” Castiel asks warily, as Sam repeats the gesture.

“Blowing a raspberry. Babies love it.” Sam crosses his eyes and sticks his hands out on either side of his head and wiggles his fingers. “And these are moose antlers.”

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with raspberries.” Castiel is wondering if he needs to grab the Nephil and fly before whatever madness is infecting the youngest Winchester passes on to Danielle.

“They’re just games, Cas,” Sam says, finally catching on that Castiel is uneasy at his antics. “Babies like simple games like this.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, not quite believing the obviously mad man.

“Peek-a-boo is going to blow your mind,” Dean says, shaking his head. He looks down at the Nephil and coos, “Aunt Sammy’s silly, isn’t he?”

Danielle squeaks.

“Aww, Dani loves her Aunt Sammy, doesn’t she?”

“Dude, those had better not be her first words,” Sam begins threateningly.

Dean just blows a raspberry at him.

Castiel realizes he’s too late; they’ve already all lost their minds. He eyes Danielle suspiciously, wondering if this is some weird Nephilistic power she’s manifesting, or if humans are always this strange around infants. Castiel fears it may be the latter.

When Sam stands, Dean passes Danielle to Castiel and follows suit. Castiel pauses in his efforts to lick the last of the syrup from his plate and watches as the three hunters head into the library, speaking in low voices as they gather up the packed bags piled on the couch that he hadn’t noticed before.

It takes a moment for Castiel to realize what‘s happening, and when he does, his heart sinks.

They’re getting ready to go on a hunt.

They’re _leaving_. Without him. Which is understandable, from a tactical standpoint; he can’t take the Nephil beyond the wards, and he’s next to useless, too weak to fight, too depleted to fly, and too focused on Danielle to keep his mind on the mission. He’d be a liability, and in their position, he wouldn’t hesitate to leave him behind.

Unfortunately, his emotions don’t respond well to logic these days.

“You’re leaving?” He hadn’t intended to sound quite so dejected, but he seems to have little control over himself lately. Castiel’s wings droop until the primaries brush the floor, and he hugs Danielle to his chest more tightly. Picking up on his distress, she starts peeping softly.

Bobby and Sam both turn to Dean, whose shoulders sag in defeat. “Told you,” Bobby mutters.

Dean hands the bag he’s holding to Bobby. “No… I’m not going anywhere. Just carrying Bobby’s things for him - he’s getting old, you know, and needs help with the heavy lifting.” Bobby snorts. “Sam and Bobby can handle this without me.” He gives Castiel a strained smile and says, “It’s a research trip, anyway… they don’t need me along for that.”

Perhaps not, but Castiel can see how much he wants to go. Still, he appreciates the lie.

Despite knowing Dean isn’t going anywhere, Castiel doesn’t let him out of sight as Dean helps Sam and Bobby load their gear into what Dean calls ‘that POS Chevelle of Bobby’s.’ He tries to keep out of ‘earshot’ - impossible, with his keen senses, but he’s trying to give them the illusion of privacy - and makes an effort to distract himself with Danielle so they can discuss their plan of action. They’re trying to keep him out of the loop, likely afraid he’ll somehow act on whatever they learn. As if he could.

They still don’t trust him. None of them do.

Still, he overhears everything, even though they’re outside and he’s got his face pressed to the window, watching. Danielle is watching as well, clinging to the window like a starfish to a rock. She knows something is going on, and she whimpers softly when Bobby and Sam get in the car. Castiel’s own anxiety spikes until Dean starts walking away from the car, and it pulls out of the drive. His wings slump with relief; he hadn’t realized until then that he’d been afraid Dean had been lying to him and had been planning to go all along.

By the time Dean comes back in, Castiel and Danielle are back on the couch, and the Nephil is much calmer for being in his arms. Still, she doesn’t fully relax until she sees Dean. Castiel isn’t so easily reassured; he can see the tension in Dean‘s stance as he studies them. 

“So… it’s just us for the next week,” Dean says finally. “Time off. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.” He won’t meet Castiel’s eyes. Castiel is no expert in human emotions, but even he can see what’s going on in Dean’s head.

Dean isn’t upset about being left behind to help take care of the baby. It’s _Castiel_ he doesn’t want to be alone with. Without Sam and Bobby to act as a buffer between them, Dean just doesn’t know how to deal with him.

For Danielle’s sake, Castiel will do whatever he can to repair their relationship. For her sake, and, he admits, his own. He’s lost his Father, and hundreds of his brothers and sisters. Castiel won’t lose Dean Winchester, too. Angels aren’t meant to be alone.

~oOo~

Castiel lays on his stomach across the soft green baby blanket, head resting on his folded arms and eyes on the Nephil as he struggles to comprehend her peculiar behavior. She’s on the blanket beside him, flopped on her back with her wings splayed around her, and she’s waving most of her tentacles through the air and making a nonsensical crooning noise for no discernable reason beyond the fact that she seems to derive some pleasure from it.

Castiel is certain this is a human thing, and thus will never make sense to him.

The remaining tentacles are either wrapped around one of his own, which he’d extended to form a protective ring around her; tightly gripping onto his abused primaries, making at least one of his wing-eyes look about to pop out of its socket; or holding on to the stuffed octopus Dean had bought for her. Castiel isn’t sure what to think about the toy - it seems to be a mockery of one of his own aspects, and its empty eyes are unnerving - but Dean had told Castiel that toys helped develop a child’s imagination and promote mental development. Castiel doesn’t want the Nephil to suffer from the same mental deficiencies as angels, so he’ll tolerate it.

Besides, Danielle already loves it.

Dean is off doing laundry; Castiel can hear him muttering about having to wash everyone’s underwear. He’d been doing chores ever since Bobby and Sam had left; Castiel doesn’t think the house has ever been this clean. Dean had mumbled something about not wanting his baby growing up in a disaster area, but Castiel suspects Dean is avoiding him.

Fortunately, he’s not neglecting Danielle in the process. He’d mumbled something about picking up a few things for the Nephil the previous day, but they’d spent most of the day asleep, so Dean had put it all aside for when they could remain conscious for longer than ten minutes at a time. (Castiel resents that; he can manage an hour awake, at least, before sleep claims him.) He’d then taken a couple of bags out of the nearest closet and presented Danielle with the blanket they’re currently lying on, as well as several others, and other odds and ends that Castiel can’t figure out.

And then, of course, he’d given Danielle the creepy purple octopus.

He’s a bit bewildered that she requires so much _stuff_. Bottles, blankets, plush animals… Angels don’t have possessions, beyond their blades and, depending on an angel’s Choir, a sign of rank or an instrument. Even their armor is a natural thing, a crystallization of the skin that’s harder than any substance found on Earth. But here he is, with something that is undeniably his, even if Danielle isn’t a possession. She belongs to him in a way that nothing else ever has, and he’s overwhelmed by the responsibility involved. It’s going to be too much for him to handle alone, he knows now.

Not that he’d be able to leave her… Although he’s having difficulties sorting out his feelings for her, he knows he’s no longer capable of smiting her, even as a mercy. And abandoning her isn’t an option, either; she needs his Grace to survive and he… he doesn’t want to be without her. No angel has ever been in his position; the Nephil born to human mothers had been raised by those mothers alone, and angel babies were the responsibility of the entire Host, which Castiel now suspects is a way to keep a strong bond between parent and child from forming, a bond which could potentially interfere with an angel’s devotion to God.

Castiel doesn’t think he’s capable of handling such a bond, of having something so dependent, so _devoted_ , to him. So he tries not to dwell on it, choosing instead to occupy himself by trying to understand television. He turns his attention back to the TV, which he’d left on a cartoon featuring a group of multi-colored ponies. It had been the only thing on that was even remotely appealing.

Human television is confusing. He finds he has trouble discerning between a fiction show and one with a basis in reality. Which is why he likes this cartoon; he _knows_ it’s fake, that these colorful, talking ponies don’t exist in reality. Plus, they aren’t murdering each other, fornicating, or starting the apocalypse. He likes it far more than the show he’d watched briefly with the screaming woman who’s trying to find out which of the seven men she’d slept with is her baby’s father.

The current episode, the second he’s watched, is about a violently pink pony baby-sitting two tiny foals who are unimpressed with her attempts to take care of them. He’s hoping to learn something from the show, but all it does is make Castiel feel uneasy with his current situation. Danielle is smarter and will likely become more powerful than the ponies in the show.

He may be, as Dean would say, _screwed._

“Dude, tell me you’re not watching _My Little Pony,_ ” Dean groans somewhere behind him.

“I don’t know what it’s called,” Castiel says, eyes glued to the screen. “But it makes more sense than the movie with the pizza man.” The pink pony is now singing to the two infants, who aren’t responding favorably.

“Isn’t there anything else on?” Dean looks around, presumable for the remote, so Castiel tucks it under his chest where Dean won‘t find it.

“There is plenty on, but… Most of what I’ve seen… It almost makes me understand Lucifer’s point about humans,” Castiel says reluctantly. “Humans can be very selfish and foolish.”

Dean smiles faintly. “Guess you’ve discovered reality TV, then. Yeah… it makes me feel that way sometimes, too. But we’ve got our good points.” Then he scowls. “ _My Little Pony_ is not one of them.” Privately, Castiel disagrees.

They lapse into silence, Castiel’s eyes riveted to the screen, and Dean is shifting around stacks of books, attempting to put them in some semblance of order, Castiel assumes, but failing miserably. It reminds him a bit of his own ridiculous urge to rearrange the blankets before he sleeps. Except, in Dean’s case, it’s a way to keep them from talking.

“The purple unicorn reminds me of Sam,” Castiel says, to break the uncomfortable silence.

Dean smirks. “Awesome. I dare you to tell him that when he gets back. Do I want to know if any of the ponies remind you of me?”

“The blue pegasus,” he says, after giving the question serious consideration. “She is very brash, loud, and says ‘awesome’ nearly as often as you do.” Anticipating Dean’s next question, Castiel adds, “And at this time, I most resemble the timid yellow pegasus.” It hurts him to admit it, but he’s only a shadow of the fearsome angel of the Lord he’d once been.

And it’s because he’s so weak that Dean has been left behind to baby-sit him.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Castiel begins.

“’Bout what?”

“I know you wanted to go with them. It’s my fault you were left behind - ”

“Forget it, Cas, there’s nothing to apologize for. It gives me a chance to get to bond with Dani, anyway.” Dean lowers himself to the blanket, pausing as the invisible limb Castiel is hastily retracting brushes against his hand. “Was that - you know what, forget it, I don’t want to know.” Danielle gurgles and rolls over so she’s leaning against Dean’s ribs, the stuffed octopus clutched to her side, and immediately wraps several limbs around his hands. “Hey, Baby Girl!” Dean greets, and proceeds to make some of the most ridiculous noises Castiel has ever heard a human make.

He’s a bit concerned about Dean’s sanity. Babies seem to have a strange effect on humans (and ponies). It’s a little alarming.

“How do you feel about her?” Dean gently disentangles his fingers from her grasping tentacles so he can run them along her downy wings. “You take good care of her, even though you‘re still new to this, and you’re scarily protective of her, but it’s hard to get a read on you. A human woman in your position wouldn’t be as tolerant of a child thrust upon them like this.”

Once, he would have thought any human women who rejected a gift from God like that to be stupid. Now, though, he understands all too well. Also, he’s surprised Dean thinks he’s doing a good job with Danielle, since he’s already almost let her die of starvation.

“My strongest feelings are confusion and an overwhelming fear,” Castiel says.

“No surprise there. I think every new parent probably feels that way. Especially one who wasn’t expecting to be a parent.”

“I’m… attached to her,” Castiel says slowly. “I will guard her with my life, I will feed her and tend to all her needs until she no longer relies upon me.” He supposes he sounds a bit callous, but it’s more care than any angel is expected to give its offspring. He has to make up for the lack of an entire Host to assist in her raising, and the fact that he’s willing to make that effort should count for something.

But it’s obviously not the answer Dean wanted; he can see that in the way his face falls. “Attached, huh?” is all he says.

“You want me to say that I love her. I’m sorry, Dean. I do care for her… but I don’t think I’m capable of the strong emotions you want me to feel towards her.”

Dean doesn’t have a reply to that, but he gives Castiel a searching look that the angel doesn’t understand. But he doesn’t comment, choosing instead to focus on Danielle, who has been wriggling against his side in an effort to gain his attention. 

“So, what are these?” Dean’s probing fingers have found a line of four bumps on top of her head, two on either side.

“I believe she will have my rack,” Castiel says, running his fingers over the bumps.

Dean chokes. “Cas!” he yowls. “The Hell, man? You don’t talk about your daughter that way!”

Castiel tilts his head, wondering what sort of _faux pas_ he’d committed. “In what way?”

“About her,” Dean holds his hands in front of his chest, a bizarre gesture Castiel doesn’t understand, “rack!”

Castiel still doesn‘t understand Dean‘s indignation. “You asked. And you had no objection about me discussing _my_ true form. I did tell you that my land aspect resembles an Elk,” Castiel reminds him. “As such, I have antlers. Two racks of them, actually. These bumps are where Danielle will have antlers one day.”

“Oh,” Dean says sheepishly. “Right. That kinda rack.”

“What kind of rack did you think I meant?”

“Ah… so, antlers, huh? That’s cool.” Dean continues to stroke Danielle soothingly, careful not to touch any of her bulbous eyes. She leans into the caress and coos contentedly, loving the attention. She’s a very affectionate baby, and Castiel feels she’s very lucky to have one parent capable of giving her the love she craves.

And then Dean goes very still. Castiel follows his gaze, and cringes when he sees what Dean has discovered: a line of scar tissue that begins with the nub of a severed tentacle and slices through an empty eye socket. The damage is usually hidden beneath one of Danielle’s floppy wings, and Castiel hadn’t even noticed it until they’d bathed the previous day. It’s a hideous mutilation that Castiel might have been able to prevent, if he’d just known about the Nephil within him.

“Cas, what is this?” He runs his fingers along the ridge of puckered skin. “Why does she have scars? _Old_ scars?”

“I believe she was close to the surface of my Grace, very near the skin of my vessel, when Rachel stabbed me. The blade must have gone right through me and hit her.” There’s anguish in his voice; Castiel had failed to protect her. “Because of Raphael’s concealment spell, I didn’t even sense her pain.”

Dean rests his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes. “You didn’t know, Cas. You’d have protected her if you could have. And at least you killed Rachel before she could kill you or Danielle.”

Castiel is silent for a long moment, considering. Then he decides he‘s never going to regain Dean‘s trust if he isn‘t honest. “Rachel attacked me because she found out about my alliance with Crowley. I had to kill her,” Castiel confesses, “not only because she wanted to stop me, but because she would have turned my own troops against me.”

“Jesus, Cas! When your own people try to assassinate you for working with a fucking _demon_ , doesn’t that tell you an alliance with Crowley is a _bad idea?_ ” 

Castiel doesn’t reply. He’s said all that needs to be said on the matter, and nothing he can add will change Dean’s mind.

Unfortunately, it’s a reminder of what he has decided needs to be done. Just because he’s out of the war, it doesn’t mean the Heavenly civil war is over. “Dean,” he says heavily. “I need your help.”

Picking up on Castiel’s tone, Dean tenses, instantly wary. “With what?” he asks, deceptively calm.

“I need to speak to Balthazar.”

“No.” Dean’s grip on Danielle tightens. She squeaks in surprise, but she’s not in pain. “He’ll kill you. You said other angels would be able to sense the Nephil on you, Cas, and that they‘d kill you before you could react.”

“True. However, I’ve been missing for almost two days after speaking with Raphael. Likely, my people are upset by my disappearance and have been searching for me. My wards will have hidden my presence as well as keep anyone searching out, and your visible attempts at angel-proofing may lead them to believe that you don’t want me here, but eventually, someone will figure out where I am. I need to speak to Balthazar before then, to let him know they need to stop looking.” Castiel hesitates to bring this up, but it needs to be said. “I also need for him to find a way to contact Crowley and tell him the deal is off. If I remain out of contact for too long, he’ll hunt for me as well.”

“Shit,” Dean groans. “That’s the last thing we’d need.”

Castiel suspects the salvage yard is going to be sporting several new devil’s traps by the end of the day.

“I won’t be without protection, Dean,” Castiel assures him. “I will remain behind the wards at all times. And I will trap Balthazar in a ring of holy fire as well - that is, if you didn’t use up the rest of the oil trapping me?” Castiel’s tone is more bitter than he’d intended. The betrayal of being trapped by the humans he trusted had hurt far worse than the tongues of flame licking greedily at his Grace. His feathers are still singed from the imprisonment.

Dean doesn’t sound apologetic as he says, “Yeah, we got enough left for a couple more angel traps. We weren’t sure when we’d need them again.”

“I would like you to be on hand for protection,” Castiel says. _And because I’m not sure I have the courage to face another angel alone_ , he doesn’t add. “For me… and for Danielle.”

“Cas, you’re not bringing her -”

“Dean, I can’t handle being separated from her right now,” Castiel interrupts miserably. “If she’s out of visual range, I panic. Bobby walked a few feet away with her and I nearly attacked him. I _need_ her nearby. And she needs me.” As much as it terrifies him to bring her so close to danger, tethered to this tiny, utterly dependent life, and separating the two of them would be disastrous.

Dean’s voice is tight with anger when he replies. “All right. But we’re taking every precaution, and if Balthazar gets too close, I’m deep frying his ass.”

Castiel smiles grimly. “And I won’t stop you. But have some faith in my abilities; even crippled as I am, I’m still faster than Balthazar when Danielle’s life depends on it.” Castiel abruptly yawns, then scowls. He’d never understood the expression “tired of sleeping” before, but it adequately describes his feelings towards his body’s need for slumber. “Sleepy?” Dean smirks.

Castiel doesn’t dignify that with a response.

Danielle begins pulling her limbs around herself, a clear signal that she’s ready for a nap. Castiel is resigned to following her into slumber; this may be the most alert he’s been since her birth, but his body’s still recovering. Castiel obligingly drapes his wing over Danielle - and, by extension, Dean - and proceeds to get comfortable. Even though he feels a little ridiculous doing it, he pushes around the blanket a bit until it feels _right_.

“So, I take it we’re not going to talk to Balthazar right now,” Dean says, trying to wriggle out from beneath the heavy appendage. But Dean’s firmly ensnared in Castiel’s wing, and he’s not letting the hunter get up. “Okay. Nap time. I can live with that.”

Castiel shifts closer until Danielle is nearly squashed between them. She’s thrilled by the closeness of both her parents, and wraps her tentacles around one each of their arms.

“That’s it,” Dean grumbles, voice muffled by Castiel’s wing. “I’m ready for my boobs now.”

It’s an unusual request, but Castiel’s too weary to give it much consideration. “Not right now, Dean. Maybe when my Grace is restored,” he says sleepily.

“Wait… what? I wasn’t serious… Wait, can you actually do that? Temporarily, I mean, like maybe for an hour or so? ‘Cause it’s been awhile…”

Castiel ignores him in favor of closing his eyes and losing himself to oblivion once again.

~oOo~

Two hours later, Castiel and Dean walk the perimeter of Castiel’s wards, checking their strength and reinforcing them where needed. Dean is holding the sleeping Danielle, wrapped tightly in the green blanket, leaving Castiel free to work. The wards need his blood to work, to know that he - and by default, Danielle, since she shares his blood - are not to be affected by the spell.

It takes more blood than Castiel would have liked, and he feels the effects of blood loss by the time he’s finished. He wants to curl up around the Nephil, safe behind his wards, cocooned within the comfort of his wings, but he can’t, not yet.

Finally, he can’t put it off any longer, and they prepare to summon Castiel’s lieutenant.

They’re performing the summoning and entrapment in one of the salvage yard’s narrowest rows, at the very limits of Castiel’s wards. The narrow gap between the rusted hulks of some of the salvage yard’s oldest heaps leave only a small area where Balthazar can stand outside the wards and still talk to them, making it easier to trap him in the holy oil. To further ensure Balthazar walks into their trap, Castiel sits in front of the circle, the closest he can be without leaving the protected area. Dean is just outside the wards, putting the finishing touches on his summoning spell. Danielle is in Castiel’s arms; as soon as Dean completes the spell, he’ll take her and retreat to a spot behind an old junker, out of sight, but close enough to overhear everything and assist if needed. He’s armed with an angel blade, just in case.

Dean finishes the summoning and steps across the wards, reaching to take their daughter so he can retreat to safety.

Except that Danielle isn’t cooperating. She’s either picked up on the fact that a summoning ritual has been performed and is frightened by it, or is responding to Castiel’s own increase in anxiety, because she’s wrapped most of her limbs around him and begins peeping hysterically. Dean and Castiel’s combined attempts to pry her loose fail, and only further frighten the Nephil.

Which means that Danielle is exposed when a flap of wings heralds Balthazar’s arrival, and Castiel wheels to face the other angel with his blade in hand. “So you live,” Balthazar says. His tone is dry, but Castiel can hear the relief in his old friend’s voice. “Your disappearance caused a bit of a kerfluffle. I’ve been doing what I can to keep everyone from panicking, but you know how hopeless most of our siblings are without someone to command them. Wouldn’t wipe their own asses without orders -”

Castiel can see the moment Balthazar spots Danielle. The angel stops dead, and his wings mantle, feathers flared and razor-edged in instinctive response to a threat. His blade slips into his hand and he takes a step forward, only to be repulsed by the wards.

“Oh, Castiel,” Balthazar breathes. “What have you done?”

 

~tbc~

Yes. Castiel is a brony. And I am convinced that his true form is, in reality, a My Little Pony.

Anyway, I’ve decided not to do a Christmas follow up to this. For now. To do it, I’d have to rush this fic, and then I’d have to rush the Christmas story, and I don’t want to do that. So I’m going to take my time with this (which also means I’ll have more time to work on the various Big Bangs sitting on my hard drive) and try to give you the best fic I can.


	6. Brothers In Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is family bonding over the Impala, Jody Mills learns that even a pervert in the park may be an angel unaware, and Danielle has mad ninja skillz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the time it’s taking between chapters; the holidays and other things have been keeping me busy, and I probably won’t manage another chapter any time soon. So I tried to give you a long one to hold you over. Then it got too long, so I hacked off the end and moved it to the next chapter, which kinda interrupts that chapter‘s flow, but oh, well.

With the terrified, clingy Danielle binding one hand tightly to his chest, and the other wrapped in a white-knuckled grip around the hilt of his angel blade, Castiel can’t ignite the holy oil ring. Fortunately, Dean isn’t hindered, and while Balthazar’s horrified gaze is fixed on the Nephil, Dean’s able to toss his lighter onto the oil ring, and the other angel is trapped before he even senses the danger.

“Damn,” he sighs, and his shoulders slump. “What happens next? You let your pet monkey fry me so I don’t expose your dirty little secret?” The look he gives Castiel is one of wounded betrayal, rather than the killing rage Dean had been anticipating.

Still, Castiel doesn’t relax from his defensive posture. “The trap is for our protection. You won’t be harmed - if you cooperate.”

“I know you’re desperate, but this is not a path you want to follow. Nephilim are unpredictable at best; it’s just as likely to kill you as Raphael! And even if it does kill Raphael, your life will be forfeit. Did you sire others, or is this the only one? Kill it now, and we may be able to cover it up. No one ever has to know -”

“No one is killing her,” Dean sneers, stepping between Balthazar and Castiel.

“Do you have any idea what that abomination is?” Balthazar hisses.

Dean‘s getting tired of people calling his daughter ‘abomination.’ “Just hear Cas out,” Dean snaps.

Balthazar spreads his hands placatingly. “Consider me a captive audience,” he quips. 

Dean turns to Cas, wondering if the angel has it in him to once again relive the events leading up to Dani’s birth. He sees Castiel visibly brace himself, and feels a surge of pride in his friend when, instead of shrinking in on himself like he had when he’d confronted Dean, Castiel straightens and meets Balthazar’s gaze, his posture defiant. _Attaboy, Cas… show him you won’t be intimidated. You’re the victim, not the criminal._

“I bore the Nephil,” Castiel says, his voice challenging.

“You…” Balthazar gapes. “As in, you gave birth to it?” Castiel nods slowly. The other angel studies the squirming Nephil, eyes narrowed. “And judging from its soul, the other parent is Winchester, here. Why?” Balthazar demands. “Why risk everything for… _that?_ ”

“It was not my choice,” Castiel snarls.

“And _how_?” Balthazar continues, his voice becoming more shrill the more agitated he becomes. Dean doesn’t think he’s even listening to Castiel. “That shouldn’t even be possible! The Nephilim need a living womb to grow; that’s why they were only ever born to human mothers.”

“Raphael,” Castiel spits out. “He’s responsible for her creation, and he modeled the pregnancy after an angelic one. He hid her within my Grace as a…” he falters. “Time bomb,” he says, glancing at Dean as if to make certain he’d used the right phrase. Dean nods.

Balthazar goes very still. “That’s…” He pauses, and it’s the first time Dean’s ever seen the arrogant angel at a loss for words. “It’s _evil_. Angelic reproduction is a rare gift… and to do _this…_ ”

“She is why I summoned you,” Castiel says. “I can’t return to Heaven, but I can’t just abandon our people. I need you to assume command, and continue the war against Raphael.”

Balthazar just stares, his face a mask of comical disbelief. “Me? A general?” he sputters. “I’m no _leader_ -”

“You‘ve had much the same experience as I. And you like this planet, and the pleasures it has to offer. You have as much interest as I in stopping the Apocalypse. And…” Castiel falters. “You’re the only one I trust completely,” Castiel finishes plaintively.

Dean wonders if Castiel is just referring to angels, or he’s included on the no-trust list.

“Damn. You know how to make this impossible to refuse, don’t you?” Balthazar heaves a put-upon sigh. “All right, I accept - on one condition. I need you as an advisor. Face it; you’re one of the few angels who can think for himself, you’re our best tactician, and you know how to use our people to the best of their abilities. I want to be able to consult with you.”

Castiel turns towards Dean, clearly at a loss. Dean guesses he’s conflicted between the need to protect his child and the desire to see this war to its conclusion. Seeing this, Balthazar says, “I’ll contact you over the phone, if it makes you feel safer. You still have one, right?”

Dean can’t help laughing at the idea of two angels discussing a heavenly war over the phone. Balthazar pins him with a glare. “Laugh all you want, but most of us are too stupid to use a phone, much less tap it or trace it.”

“Yes, I still have my phone,” Castiel nods. “I will… listen, but I can’t promise to be of much help. I have much on my mind at the moment.” He looks down at the clingy Danielle. “Balthazar… I have never encountered a Nephil before. You have; I would appreciate anything you can tell me about their powers. Would possession of one be of benefit to Raphael?”

Balthazar considers Danielle carefully before answering. “They share many abilities with their angelic parents, some of which are stronger due to the infusion of a soul with Grace. Against a Host of angels, or even in a fair one-on-one fight, one Nephil probably wouldn‘t win. However, they’re creative thinkers, dirty fighters, and their odd mix of soul and Grace makes them hard for us to sense, giving them a natural ability to hide their presence. A Nephil would be the equivalent of the ultimate angelic ninja assassin.”

Castiel listens silently, his grip tightening around Danielle as Balthazar speaks. Dean watches as his daughter, she of the supposedly mad ninja skillz, squeaks and tries to burrow herself under Castiel’s shirt. He can’t imagine her as one of the monsters that Balthazar is describing, something so vile that God would drown innocent humans just to rid the earth of a few Nephilim.

“Were they all that bad?” Dean asks miserably. Despite Castiel’s earlier assurances, Dean’s earlier fear that Danielle could grow into something that needs to be hunted resurfaces.

“No. There were many among them who used their abilities to help their human kin by healing the sick and defending the helpless. Unfortunately, there were few of these, and our Father had decided all Nephilim should be put to death. I had to hunt down and destroy men and women of faith, whose only sin was to be born a hybrid. I had to kill _children._ ”

“You hunted Nephilim? The Hell, Cas? Why would you let him get this close to Danielle?” Dean whirls on Castiel. Suddenly, deep-frying Balthazar sounds like an excellent idea.

“Because, as a member of the original unit of angels assigned to hunting down Nephilim, part of my job was to capture them for interrogation. Can’t get a lot of answers from a corpse, so I learned to control the ‘kill’ impulse. I’m one of the few angels who can talk to Cassy without smiting him first.”

Dean’s still pissed that Castiel didn’t feel the need to mention this, but lets it go for now. 

Balthazar, meanwhile, has been watching Castiel’s futile efforts to calm his daughter with an expression of… longing? _No,_ Dean dismisses the thought.

Balthazar catches Dean watching him, and scowls. He pointedly gives Dean the cold shoulder as he says to Castiel, “I‘ve decided, for my first act as general, I’m assigning you a couple of guards.”

“No,” Castiel growls.

“Castiel,” Balthazar begins, his tone wheedling. “I’m doing it for your own good - and for your child’s.”

“I do not want other angels near Danielle!”

“Now, now, Cassy. There’s no need to get your wings all ruffled - makes you look like an indignant goose.” He pulls himself straight, his face suddenly serious. “But you put me in charge, and I feel a valuable asset such as yourself should be under guard. And I can’t afford to let a Nephil to fall into enemy hands. I’ll choose guards that have the most restraint, an they’ll remain outside your wards, of course, but they’ll be there if you need them.”

“Hester was part of the Nephilim hunting unit, yes?” Castiel muses. “Perhaps she’d have the best control over her instincts.”

Balthazar grimaces. “Yeeees,” he says reluctantly, “but since she’s learned to express emotions, she’s really embraced wrath.” To Dean, he says, “Girl has serious anger management issues. I suppose I could partner her with Inias. The little reprobate’s pretty easy-going, and he’s such a fanboy of yours, Cassy, that there’s no way he’d let Hester hurt you.”

“Fanboy?” Castiel repeats blankly.

Balthazar waves it off. “Never mind. Hester and Inias it is, then. Better you deal with them than me.”

“What? No way! We don’t need more angels hanging around!” Dean objects. “Remember what you said about angels killing Nephilim first and asking questions never?”

“I clearly remember what I said, yes. However, if Raphael is interested in taking Danielle for himself, the added security may be necessary. I accept your decision,” Castiel says. He‘s silent for a long moment, steeling himself for the moment of truth. “I have another task for you. I need you to get a message to Crowley. Tell him our deal is off. I’ve been… compromised. Another way must be found to defeat Raphael.”

“Crowley,” Balthazar says slowly. “You mean, King of Hell Crowley?”

“Do you know of another?” Castiel asks.

“You made a deal. With the King of Hell.” Balthazar’s voice is strained.

“We had a mutual goal; neither of us want to see Lucifer and Michael released and the Apocalypse enacted. It was our intention to open Purgatory and channel the power of the souls to defeat Raphael. I can no longer perform that task, so I am worthless to him.”

Balthazar’s jaw was clenched, but he managed, “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear it. Very well… I’m sure we can find some low level demon we can bully into delivering the message and face his wrath. Is that all, or are there any other unsavory bedfellows I need to contact? A pagan god, perhaps?”

“Just Crowley.” Castiel attempts to pry Danielle loose from where she’s burrowed under his coat. She seems to be stuck fast, though, so he gives up. “Release him, Dean.”

As Dean reaches for the water bucket they‘d set aside, Balthazar says, “Actually, I’d like to talk to Winchester. Alone.”

Castiel glances between them uncertainly. “It’ll be okay, Cas,” Dean assures him. “He’s trapped, yeah? I’ll stay behind the wards where it’s safe.” 

“I worry more about you harming him,” Castiel says.

Dean smiles grimly. “Glad you have that much confidence in my skills.”

Castiel eyes him narrowly. “Give your word that you’ll free Balthazar when you are finished,” he says finally.

Since Dean can’t see any advantage to keeping a furious angel caged at the edge of the property, he says, “I’ll put out the holy fire. Promise I won’t strike the first blow.”

Seemingly satisfied, Castiel departs. He still isn’t flying, so they watch in silence as Castiel retreats, turning his back to them but not trusting Balthazar enough to sheath his blade. Once he’s rounded a stack of rusted vehicles, Balthazar advances to the edge of the holy fire circle, eyes blazing.

“A _demon deal_? You let Castiel make a deal with the _King of Hell_?” Balthazar rages.

“Hey, I didn’t _let_ Cas do anything - he makes his own decisions these days,” Dean defends.

“He listens to you, though I can’t imagine why. You could have talked him out of it!”

“I _tried_! I didn’t even find out about it until a few days ago,” Dean snaps. “He consistently lied to me, he manipulated us into doing his dirty work for him, he brought Sam back from Hell soulless and refused to fix it… I had to face the fact that I might have to kill one of the best friends I’ve ever had….” Dean stops, shocked by his own vehemence. He hadn’t intended to let it all out, and to Balthazar, of all people.

Balthazar offers him a small smile that, for once, isn’t sarcastic. “Looks like he’s disappointed us both. But I’m surprised you still took him in - you humans tend to be a vindictive lot.”

“Yeah, well… Danielle kinda changes everything. And it‘s not like he could go to any of you dicks for help.” 

“Indeed,” is all Balthazar says, eyes fixed on the house, where Castiel and Danielle must surely be by now. There’s something sad about that distant gaze.

“Would it have worked?” Dean doesn’t want to admit that there may be some merit to Cas’ plan, but he has to know.

Balthazar cocks his head as he thinks. “Theoretically,” he says slowly. “Assuming Castiel didn’t absorb more souls than he can hold, or that he didn’t explode the first time he attempts to channel their power, then yes, he could conceivably use the souls to destroy Raphael. But it would _change_ him… we’re not meant to wield that much power. If he took that step, it would be the point of no return. I don’t think he’d be our Castiel anymore.”

That settles it. No fucking way is Castiel going through with this. Bad enough that Cas is already dangerously close to going dark side; it sounds like the souls would be what finally pushed him over the edge. Maybe Raphael had inadvertently done them a favor after all, because the Cas he’s been dealing with the past couple of days has been more like the angel he’d befriended than the cold, distant Cas he’d known of late. 

Dean hadn’t realized until that moment just how much he’d _missed_ having Castiel as his friend.

“Why would he even do that to himself?” Dean asks, running a hand through his hair in frustration. But he already knows the answer; this is war, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made.

Balthazar just gives him a Look. “You really don’t know him, do you?” Balthazar snorts derisively. “So I guess that’s that. Oh, and Dean? If anything happens to Castiel or his baby on your watch, I’ll personally ensure you regret it for all eternity.”

“Spent forty years in Hell, man… I doubt there’s anything you could do that hasn’t already been done to me.”

“Ah, but it was an angel that taught demons how to torture,” Balthazar says with a grin that’s closer to a baring of teeth than a smile. “I can kill you and bring you back over and over again, and when I get tired of that, I can find your soul in whatever afterlife it ends up in, then torture that.”

Dean scowls, but he has to admit: he respects Balthazar’s fierce loyalty to Castiel. He wonders just how deep their friendship actually goes. He’s certainly more loyal than any of the other angels Dean has encountered. 

As Dean picks up the water-filled bucket, he says, “Danielle is my daughter, and Cas… well, he’s like a brother to me. And I protect family with my life.” He pours the water over the holy fire, dousing enough of it that Balthazar can step free. The angel does so, and with a flick of his wrist, puts out the rest of the flames. Dean expects him to vanish, but instead, the angel stands there, arms crossed, studying him thoughtfully. 

“I believe you. Still… You can‘t meet all his needs. Oh, don’t look so pissy; I know you’re making an effort. The point is, you’re not an angel, and this isn’t Heaven.” His gaze lingers distastefully over the rusted skeletons of long-abandoned vehicles. “There are some things you simply can’t do for him, such as adequately meeting his energy requirements. Since I hate to see Castiel suffering like this, I’m going to leave food for him,” Balthazar says magnanimously. “Starting tomorrow… say, around six in the morning and six in the evening, I’ll leave food here, just beyond the wards.”

“Won’t that much angel activity attract the wrong sort of attention?” Dean asks uneasily. Bad enough they’ll have two angelic sentries hanging about; with two arrivals and departures daily, it increases the likelihood of Raphael’s spies figuring out Castiel is here.

“Perhaps. But what good is safety if Castiel dies of malnourishment?” Balthazar points out.

Dean yields. He wishes he could give Castiel everything he needed, but even if Dean were made of money, he doubted he could keep up with the angel’s appetite. “Thank you,” he says grudgingly.

“And if Hester or Inias give you any trouble, pray for me.” Finally, with a rush of wings, Balthazar leaves.

Dean slowly heads back towards the house. He almost expects to see Cas standing in the shadows of one of the stacks of cars, but it seems he’d truly left them alone after all.

He’s not ready to go back inside, where he’ll just go back to cleaning in an effort to keep himself distracted. Can’t have Bobby getting used to a clean house, after all; he might expect Dean to clean every time he and Sam stay over. So he decides he may as well give the Impala a tune-up. It’s not due for one, but who knows when he’ll have this kind of free time again?

Dean parks the Impala where it’s clearly visible through the windows of the living room. He expects Castiel to be out the door as soon as Dean’s in sight, but to his surprise, he’s left alone with the Impala, and his thoughts.

Damn.

His mind goes immediately to the encounter with Balthazar, which hadn’t gone at all how he’d been expecting. He’s a little confused about Balthazar’s reaction. He’d been expecting the wrath of Heaven, and instead, the other angel had seemed… concerned. Maybe it’s a hint of that angelic neo-natal care Castiel hinted he’d’ve received if the situation had been different, if Danielle had been pure angel, but to Dean, it had felt _personal_.

And the looks Balthazar had given Castiel, cradling his infant protectively… Dean’s pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the haunted expression on his face.

What if Castiel and Balthazar had been a bit more than brothers in arms? Balthazar is the only angel Dean’s seen Castiel exhibit any positive emotions towards, and Balthazar… well, Balthazar had been a bit too quick to rejoin the civil war he’d been working so hard to avoid, simply because Castiel had asked him to. 

While Dean can’t imagine the stoic, emotionally stunted Castiel being someone’s boyfriend - or girlfriend - he wouldn’t put a bit of unrequited feelings past Balthazar. 

And suddenly, Dean realizes he’s thinking about Castiel’s sex life (or, more likely, lack thereof.) Dean _really_ doesn’t want to think too hard about Castiel and Balthazar’s relationship. And he’s not even going to think about this unknown Inias, the Castiel ‘fanboy.’

Especially since something about the thought of the two of them being close causes a hot, sick feeling to flare up in Dean, something that feels an awful lot like jealousy.

Because his current train of thought is bringing out a rather uncomfortable side of himself, Dean forces himself to think about something else. So, instead, Dean focuses on the newest member of the Winchester family. It’s the first time he’s had to really think about Danielle without either Castiel cleaving to him, or his brother badgering him to share his Feelings.

He has a _daughter_. The concept is just so enormous, so overwhelming, that it’s only now starting to sink in. He actually has to grab on to the Impala to stay upright, because suddenly his knees are weak and he feels dizzy.

He has a _baby_. With _Castiel_. A hysterical laugh bubbles up, and he slides down the side of the Impala, landing hard on his butt. He wants to be a father, and even still holds on to the hope that Ben really is his, but this is… this is not how he’d imagined it. He’d wanted a child he could raise into a normal life, with a normal family, with maybe the occasional hunt to stave off any cabin fever.

Instead, he’s trapped in one place with a clingy, frightened angel who has been more enemy than friend lately, and he’s certain that after a couple more days, there will be yelling, and drinking, and taking off in the Impala to have angry sex with the first willing woman he can find. And then there will be guilt, and shame, and more patented Sam Winchester bitchfaces directed at him than he’s ever seen in his life.

Okay. Maybe Dean’s looking forward to the angry sex, just a little bit, but the rest of it? Terrifying. He doesn’t want to be that kind of father, and he certainly doesn’t want to abandon Castiel, but what if he can’t stop himself? Dean gets cabin fever just from being sick or injured and stuck in a hotel room for a few days; how’s he going to manage not being able to leave Bobby’s property for any great length of time? (And how the Hell is Bobby going to handle having them there 24/7, anyway?)

It has the makings of a disaster of Apocalyptic proportions.

Or it could be the best thing that has ever happened to him.

He’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s kinda liked waking up the last couple of mornings beneath Castiel’s wing (which is basically the softest, most comfortable feather blanket he’s ever slept under) with Danielle’s small body pressed against him. And… he’s missed having a warm body in bed beside him. So what if that body is all sharp angles and hard, unfeminine lines, and burns with a heat that would be dangerous in a human? He knows it can’t last, it never lasts, not for him, but he’s going to take comfort in it while he can.

Sam’s right, Dean _loves_ having someone to take care of. But Danielle is going to be a bigger challenge than raising his brother, helping Lisa with Ben, or taking care of a shapeshifter baby. She has a death sentence hanging over her, and she can’t leave the safety of the wards, and Cas can‘t handle being left alone. Maybe this will all change in the future but for now, he’s sort of stuck.

Taking care of her will be a lifetime commitment, and probably a dangerous one. But Castiel has dropped everything to raise this unexpected child that has condemned him to exile and death, and Dean can do no less. He doesn’t want to be like Dad, leaving him and Sammy alone for long periods while he went away on hunts. 

Dean wants to be worthy of her. Because she looks at him like he’s the most important thing in the world besides Castiel. Because she instinctively loved him before she even knew him. Because she brought Cas, his _friend_ Cas, back to Team Free Will. Because most of the world is going to hate and fear her, and she needs someone to shield her from that. 

And, most of all, because she needs a parent that can love her unreservedly, since Castiel believes he’s unable to.

Dean calls bullshit on that. Sure, when he’d first met Castiel, he’d had no difficulty believing it when Anna had told him angels were incapable of emotion. But then Cas had chosen to side with them against Heaven, and the longer he’d spent with the Winchesters, the more he’d seen proof that Castiel is capable of a full range of emotions. Dean has no doubt that, in time, Castiel could come to love her. Dean just wishes Cas would come to the realization faster, because Danielle obviously craves his affection.

And yet, Dean knows he shouldn’t force Cas to love Danielle. The Nephil had been created by an act of war, not love, and it’s a miracle that Castiel hasn’t rejected her for that. Dean doesn’t think he’d be so compassionate, were their positions reversed. An attachment beats the alternatives.

Besides, after watching Cas with her, seeing how protective his is of her, and how attuned he is to her emotions, Dean thinks that, in time, the angel will learn to love her. But it’s something he’ll have to realize on his own.

Dean’s going to make sure he learns by watching Dean’s example.

Dean finally picks himself up off the dirt, gives the dirt on his rear a cursory brush, then gets to work giving the Impala an oil change. He manages not to think about Cas and Dani the whole time.

It’s a whole forty-five minutes before Castiel finally joins him, Danielle wrapped like a burrito in his arms in a yellow blanket covered with ducks, and sits on the hood of a junker a few feet away. His hair is still dripping, so he’d probably taken a bath before finding his way out to Dean. He’d also found and donned his trench coat, which is still wrinkled from the other night. The hot water bottle is still belted firmly to his abdomen.

“What did Balthazar have to say?” Castiel asks.

“Basically, that if I do anything to hurt you, he’ll kill me. Then he’ll find my soul wherever it ends up - Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory - and he’ll find a way to make my afterlife eternal torment.” Dean shrugs. “Also, he’s going to start leaving food for you tomorrow, since we’re obviously failing at meeting your needs.” 

Castiel looks extremely pleased by this. “I have no desire to… ‘eat you out of house and home,’ as Bobby said. His offering of food is appreciated.”

“He’s still a dick, but I guess he has some good points. Y’know… he took all this really well, and didn’t try to kill you or Dani… Maybe you’re wrong about the other angels.”

“No,” Castiel says flatly. “Balthazar and I have been comrades for longer than humans have walked the Earth. He is likely the only one who would have given me the benefit of the doubt.”

Danielle squeaks emphatically. Obviously, it’s been too long since attention has been lavished upon her.

Dean peeks into the fold of the blanket and sees three of Danielle’s eyes staring out at him. When she sees him, she squeals with delight and begins wriggling in Castiel’s arms, trying to free herself enough to grab for Dean. Castiel patiently unwraps the blanket so Danielle is exposed on his lap, and she immediately wiggles her limbs at Dean, a clear invitation to pick her up. After a quick look at Cas for permission, Dean scoops the ecstatic Nephil into his arms. She sits in the crook of his elbow, gazing up at him adoringly. She has a pacifier gripped in her wide mouth, but it’s not inhibiting her ability to make happy noises.

Relieved of his burden, Castiel leans back on the windshield of the junker and tips his head skyward, watching a pair of birds wheel overhead. Something in his trench coat pockets thuds against the hood, and Dean hides a grin when he sees Castiel has turned the coat into a diaper bag of sorts. He has a capped bottle in one pocket, along with the package of mint double stuffed Oreos Dean had thought he’d hidden from Castiel. In the opposite pocket, Dean sees the necks of two beer bottles.

Cas is awesome. Dean thinks he’ll have to keep him.

Dean positions Danielle on his shoulder, and she immediately wraps several tentacles around his neck and shoulder. “Not too tight, Sweetie,” he warns her, and her grip loosens enough so it’s not choking him. He suddenly wonders if she can understand him. “How smart is she, Cas? She’s a lot more advanced than a human baby her age would be.”

Castiel looks a little smug. “I have no reference for comparison, but I believe her intelligence is well beyond that of a human or an angel baby’s,” he says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Oreos. He offers the package to Dean, but Dean’s fingers are greasy and he doesn’t want to touch the cookies. He does, however, accept the beer that Castiel hands him.

The whole time, Danielle keeps up a litany of coos, burbles, squeaks, and peeps, as if she’s trying to contribute to the conversation.

“Hey, is she actually talking?” Dean wonders.

“No… She’s just making noises because she’s happy.”

After the revelation that his daughter is a genius, Dean’s a bit disappointed that she isn’t that advanced yet. Then again, she’s not even two days old, so Dean’s expectations are probably unreasonable.

“She listens, though, and is absorbing what you say, even if she doesn’t understand yet.”

So Dean begins teaching Danielle about engines, because no child of his is going to be ignorant about cars. He points out every part to her, naming them and telling her what each one does. She keeps up a steady stream of chatter, and Dean tells himself that she’s repeating everything back in that special language that all babies seem to develop. Some time during the litany, Castiel joins them, giving Dean his full, laser-focus attention, which is not disconcerting at all. This goes on for an hour or so, until Castiel pulls out a handful of cookies and dribbles crumbs on the Impala’s engine.

“C’mon, man! Not over the engine!”

“Sorry,” the angel says, chagrined. “I’m hungry.” He goes back to his seat on the junker.

“Do you really need to eat so much? We’ve known each other for awhile, and the only time I’ve ever seen you eat is when you were under Famine’s influence.” Balthazar had seemed to think it was of grave importance that Castiel be properly fed, and Dean wants to know why.

“Energy,” Castiel says through a mouthful of cookies. He takes a moment to finish chewing and swallows the cookies, then continues. “Humans transform food into energy. I am an energy being, one who is continuously losing that energy, that Grace, to feed Danielle. I can’t return to Heaven to restore my Grace, and I won’t risk touching another human soul to recharge unless absolutely necessary, since in my current condition, it would be like performing delicate surgery with shaky hands. So I use my vessel’s ability to transform food into energy, and use that to supplement my Grace. This will have to continue until my Grace is sufficiently recovered, or Danielle no longer relies on me for sustenance. It‘s an inefficient, unsatisfactory solution, but it‘s keeping us alive.”

Which explains why Cas looks like the poster boy for eating disorders; his body is eating itself to help nurture Danielle. Suddenly, Dean’s very grateful for Balthazar’s offer to acquire food.

“Speaking of food,” Castiel says abruptly, “Danielle is hungry.”

Dean glances over. The Nephil has gone quiet, and is sucking more forcefully on the pacifier. Dean detaches her from his neck and hands her over to Cas, who already has the bottle out. He rests her on the blanket across his lap and partially wraps her in its folds. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watches the way Castiel’s fingers linger on Danielle’s wings. _Yeah… incapable of love. Right._ They both watch for several minutes as she guzzles down the formula, oblivious to their scrutiny. It’s the first time Dean notices that she shuts most of her eyes while drinking, as though blissed out by the taste. Dean picks up a chamois cloth, intending to rub out a barely-noticeable blemish on the driver’s side door.

“I believe she may have saved my life,” Castiel says suddenly, looking up from the greedily suckling Nephil.

“Yeah?” Dean tosses the chamois aside and takes a seat next to Cas, guessing that this is something he’ll want to hear.

“When we faced Eve. The Mother of All had every reason to hate angels, and I had been aiding in the capture and torture of her children. She’d blocked my powers and left me completely vulnerable. It would have been very easy for her to kill me, but she held back. Eve had a weakness, one that was exploited to trap her and send her to Purgatory - she will not kill a mother with unborn or dependent children. If she had sensed Danielle, then it would explain why she let me live.”

Dean remembers how Castiel had been largely ignored by Eve, despite his role in capturing and torturing her children. “Guess you owe her one,” Dean smiles at the Nephil, who’d detached herself from the bottle and is now pressed against Castiel, blinking sleepily. Dean suspects she’s tending to her other hunger by siphoning Castiel’s Grace.

“I have a better understanding of Eve’s point of view now,” Castiel admits quietly. “What Crowley did - what I did - to Eve’s children… it was inexcusable. If anyone were to treat Danielle in that manner…” He shudders.

Dean remembers the gory remains of the Jefferson Starship that Castiel had interrogated, and wonders which one of them is more monstrous.

Fortunately, before he can dwell on that thought and get angry at Castiel all over again, there’s the sound of an approaching engine and tires crunching gravel. Castiel stiffens. The house obstructs his view of most of the driveway, so he can’t tell if it‘s friend or foe, but the driver has passed over a devil’s trap Dean had painted earlier, so it isn’t a demon.

“Dean,” Castiel hisses, “someone is here!”

Dean tenses, ready to go on the attack, but then he recognizes the truck pulling up the drive, and the woman behind the wheel. 

“Cas, wait, that’s just…” By the time Dean turns around, Castiel and Danielle have vanished. “Sherriff Mills,” he finishes weakly.

~oOo~

When Bobby had called Sherriff Jody Mills to ask for a favor, she’d expected him to request assistance in covering up another hunt that had run afoul of law enforcement. Her immediate response is to refuse; she’d barely avoided losing her job over helping with the incident involving Rufus Turner, and she doesn’t think she’ll be so luck a second time around.

But before she can respond, Bobby launches into an impossible story, somewhat garbled due to the fact that he’s speaking fast so she can’t get a word in edgewise, about Winchester idjits and their clueless pet angels.

The only really meaningful thing she pulls out of this is that they’re dealing with a newborn that’s somehow the child of Dean Winchester and a non-human mother - who, apparently, looks like a human male - who was caught by surprise and has no idea how to take care of a baby. And Bobby hinted that there may be a need for trauma counseling as well.

She’ll ignore the ‘angel’ part for now - losing her family destroyed what little faith she had left, and she finds it hard to believe an angel would show up _now_ , in Bobby’s salvage yard - and decides to focus on the fact that this is a sentient being who needs her help, one that just happens to not be human. She’s still new to the whole idea that the supernatural really does exist, but she supposes there are benign creatures as well as vicious ones, and she won’t be the kind of person who refuses to help someone because they’re different.

So here she is, in Bobby’s salvage yard, a sack full of burgers clutched in one hand. She can’t help but think of the food as some sort of offering, that if the so-called ‘angel’ is filled up on burgers, it won’t suddenly grow fangs and devour her.

Dean Winchester is standing next to his massive boat of a car, his slightly befuddled expression fixed on a spot off to his left. Then he turns to her and plasters a phony smile across his face. “Hello, Sherriff. Can I help you?” he asks cautiously.

“Bobby contacted me yesterday, calling in a favor. I told him he‘d used them up already, but listened to him anyway.” She gives him her most disarming, I-know-I’m-a-cop-but-you-can-trust-me smile. Dean’s clearly not buying it, judging from the strained smile he offers in return. She can’t blame him. After all, she’s the sheriff who‘d tossed him jail, they barely know each other, and he’s helping protect a newborn, which is enough to make any parent mistrustful.

“Bobby’s not here. He and my brother are off on business.” His peculiar emphasis on the last word implies it’s not business of the towing vehicles sort.

Jody decides she doesn’t want to know. “Actually, I’m here for the… friend he told me could use my help. The one who’s dealing with an unexpected child.”

“Right.” He glances towards the house, and when Jody follows his gaze, she glimpses a pale face pull back from the window. “He told you Cas ain’t human, right?”

“He said it was an _angel_ ,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I thought at first he was joking. I’m assuming he said that because he thought it would sound more appealing than ‘swamp hag’ or ‘tentacle monster.’”

“Bobby wasn’t joking - though you‘re not too far off with ‘tentacle monster‘.” Dean smiles humorlessly. “Cas really is an angel. Just… don’t expect too much. He looks like a scruffy, thirty-something, trench coat-wearing tax accountant after a bender, but there’s an angel in there. Somewhere.” 

“An angel named ‘Cas’?” she says dubiously.

“His name’s Castiel, actually. But he’s never objected to me calling him Cas.”

“And he’s… possessing a human body?” That doesn’t sound right to Jody. Sunday school never mentioned anything like that. All the stories she’s heard about possession involved evil entities.

“A _male_ human body, which is why it sounds so weird that he insists he’s Danielle’s mother.” Dean flashes a smile. “Still, better him than me. No way I‘m the mommy here.”

“Danielle is the baby? The, uh…” There’s a word for human-angel hybrids, but Jody hasn’t stepped inside a church since she was a teenager and her Biblical knowledge is a little rusty.

“A Nephil. That’s what Cas calls her, anyway. Yeah, she’s… unique.” Dean pauses, and suddenly looks very nervous. “Please, please don’t freak out about her looks. Turns out angels are really weird looking, and Dani takes after Cas. She’s really adorable, once you get used to the tentacles. And eyeballs. And the slime.”

Now Jody’s certain Dean’s pulling her leg.

“If you don’t think you can handle it, then you should probably go now. I… I’ve said some unflattering things about her, but it’s getting hard to listen to others call her ‘ugly’ or an abomination. She’s my baby girl, and I don’t want her growing up hearing that.”

He sounds so fiercely protective that Jody can’t help but smile. And wonder just what the Hell the baby actually looks like, to elicit this kind of response. Whatever it is, she decides that she can handle it. “Dean… I’m willing to do what I can to help them, but… if your angel tells me that my family’s deaths were all ‘part of God’s plan’ and that I should just accept it, then I’m leaving.”

“Trust me, he won’t. He’s not like that - not anymore. God disappointed him, too.”

There’s definitely a story here, but Dean doesn’t continue.

Dean leads to the door, but holds up a hand to halt her before she can go inside. “I’ll go talk to him and make sure he’s not in a smiting mood. This is the first time we’ve had a stranger around Danielle.”

_Smiting. Right. Angels do that_. Jody wonders if it’s too late to change her mind.

After about five minutes, Dean comes back out. “He’s really freaked about having someone he doesn’t know near Dani, but he understands you’re here to help him take better care of her. Just… don’t try to touch either of them, don’t make any sudden movements, ‘cause he’s damned _fast_ when he needs to be… Let him get to know you before you really get into things, yeah?”

Basically, handle Castiel like she would any other victim: calmly, carefully, softly and sympathetically. And don’t think about how he can strike her down if she makes one wrong move.

“And make sure you show him the food, ‘cause I guess Bobby promised you’d bring him some, and he kinda fixated on that.” Dean studies her for a moment, probably trying to gauge just how afraid she is. He seems satisfied by what he sees, however, and nods to himself. “If you’re ready, then come inside and meet a real, live angel of the Lord,” he says acerbically, as if he holds the whole species in contempt.

Jody follows him inside, absently noting that the house is a little cleaner than when she’d last seen it. It still looks like an occult library had barfed all over every available surface, but there’s no dust, and it looks like there’d been some attempt to organize the chaos.

They come to a halt in the living room, and Jody, after taking a deep, preparatory breath, steps around Dean and gets her first look at the angel.

In spite of both Dean and Bobby’s warnings, Jody still expects something awe-inspiring. Something unnaturally, achingly beautiful; a tall, androgynous, glowing figure with fluffy white wings and robe. Something that she’ll hate on sight.

Instead, the man standing protectively in front of the couch, wielding what looks like either a long knife or a short sword, is exactly as Dean described him, down to the rumpled trench coat. With the disheveled hair and wild eyes, he looks more like the drunken pervert in the park than an angel. He doesn’t even have _wings._ Still, he’d actually be rather attractive, Jody thinks, if he didn’t look so exhausted and malnourished.

And the thing she glimpses behind him, the thing he’s protecting with such ferocity? Dean hadn’t been exaggerating about that, either. It couldn’t possibly be the baby - could it? But before she can get a good look, the scruff man - the _angel_ \- steps between them, somehow filling her entire field of vision.

“Sunday school got a lot of things wrong,” Jody says weakly.

“Yes,” a rough voice responds. “Your organized religions have gotten much wrong.”

Jody had expected a melodic, beautiful voice, arrogant, with an archaic formality. And with a British accent, just because. She doesn’t expect him to sound like he gargles gravel every morning.

It’s actually kinda sexy. Not that she’ll _ever_ let the angel know that.

“Who are you?” he grates. He fixes luminous eyes on her, and she has an almost overpowering urge to flee. She instinctively recognizes this as something awe-inspiring, something to _fear_.

“Cas, this is Sherriff Jody Mills, the woman Bobby told you about. Sherriff Mills, this is Castiel, angel of the Lord. Don’t smite her, Cas, it’d be really inconvenient to have to explain.”

Those wide, wild blue eyes study her, seeming to look _through_ her. “I see no taint, angelic or demonic, but I would still feel more comfortable seeing her put through the tests.”

Both Bobby and Dean had mentioned something about tests, and while they hadn’t gone into detail, Jody could guess what they were for. Monsters could look human, so it made sense that hunters had devised a way to tell them apart.

And with an infant on the premises, they’re probably being even more careful. “All right. Hit me.”

Castiel looks startled. “The tests won’t be that violent,” he says. “Though there will be blood-letting.”

“Joy,” she says resignedly.

The first test is simple enough; she drinks down a glass of holy water, which doesn’t taste any different from regular water, a fact Jody finds oddly disappointing. As a child she’d always wondered if the holy water tasted better, but she’d been too afraid to try it for herself.

The second test involves cutting herself with a silver knife. And the knife Dean’s holding looks… well-used.

“Have you performed this test on other people?” Jody asks.

“Yeah… sorta a hunter thing. We’re a paranoid bunch.”

“Then you’re not touching me with that knife until I’m sure it’s been sterilized.” At Dean’s shocked look, Jody rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you heard of infections or other blood-born diseases caused by using filthy instruments?”

Dean just blinks.

“I can purify the blade,” Castiel interjects.

He reaches his hand out and touches the knife, which briefly glows white. Then Dean holds it out and explains that it’s silver, and there are several species of supernatural being that can’t stand the touch of it. And Dean can’t adequately explain why, then, he can’t just _touch_ her with silver, rather than cut her with it.

“We’ve always cut ourselves,” Dean says. “It’s never harmed us before.”

“I’ve cleansed Dean and Sam of several infections brought on by using dirty instruments,” Castiel says. Then he tilts his head thoughtfully, and turns to Dean. “Perhaps you should be more careful for a while; healing such an affliction is currently beyond my capabilities.”

Judging from Dean’s expression, this is news to him. Then he shakes it off. “Anyway, are you satisfied that she’s human?”

Castiel hesitates. “Yes,” he says finally, reluctantly. But he remains poised protectively between Jody and the faintly squeaking bundle on the couch behind him. Jody bets it would be easier to move a small mountain than an angelic mother (and oh, yes, it‘s awkward to think of someone so obviously _male_ in those terms!)

Dean places his hand on Castiel‘s arm, getting a firm grip while simultaneously shifting the angel to the side, allowing Jody to finally get a look at the real reason she’s here. “And this,” Dean says with obvious pride, “is Danielle.” And he gestures at the thing on the couch, which is every bit as grotesque as her first glimpse of it had revealed

And yet… it‘s not the most horrifying thing Jody has ever seen. Maybe it’s because it’s been partially wrapped in a fluffy yellow blanket covered in ducks, gumming the tips of two of its… yes, it really _did_ have tentacles, some of which it was using to cling to a stuffed purple octopus. Or maybe it’s the way its wide, guileless eyes - Jody doesn’t want to count how many there actually are - are regarding her with a shy curiosity. Everything about it - about _her_ , Jody reminds herself - screams ‘harmless baby‘, and Jody realizes that this won’t be as hard as she’d initially feared. A baby is a baby, no matter what it looks like.

Her angelic parent, on the other hand? Is quite possibly the most terrifying being Jody has ever encountered.

Jody smiles crookedly and holds up the greasy bag, hoping the greasy offering is enough to persuade him not to strike her down. “I brought burgers.” 

 

~tbc~

 

Apologies for the increasing length of time between chapters. I’ve been focusing on my Big Bangs recently, since they all come due in January. And I’ve spent a lot of time working on the final chapter, whatever number chapter that may be.

The bit about Cas and Eve is a leftover from when I’d originally planned to set this story much earlier in season six, in which Cas is reluctantly persuaded to leave Danielle behind and help with Eve. In the diner scene, she would have told him that she doesn’t kill mothers with children who depend on them - and add that he doesn’t show such mercy, making him more of a monster than she.


	7. Dreamweaver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Danielle’s got talent, Castiel faces off with the pizza man, Dean may never eat pie again, and angel family vacations are AWESOME.

Castiel proves to be a challenge.

Not deliberately; she can tell that the angel is earnest about learning how to properly care for his daughter. He answers her questions honestly, if somewhat guardedly, and he listens to her advice with an intensity of focus that makes her uncomfortable. He tells her how he came to be the mother of a Nephil, speaking with a detachment she suspects hides deep emotional trauma (no wonder Bobby had thought her counseling skills might come in handy; Castiel could be a meltdown waiting to happen.) He seldom asks questions, and at first Jody thinks it’s because of a natural reticence. Then she realizes that he simply has _no clue_ what to ask. And when he does finally venture a question, they seem so obvious that she would have thought even the newest, most naïve parents would know the answer.

He acts as if this is something so far beyond him that he has no hope of ever understanding. He’s going to blunder his way through parenthood and hope that, somehow, Danielle will emerge from the experience relatively unscathed. Well… it seems to be working for him so far.

Still… It all helps to drive home the fact that Castiel isn’t human.

She’s teaching a being who is _literally_ ‘older than dirt’, and he’s hanging on to her every word as if she were some wise sage, rather than an ephemeral being he’ll have forgotten centuries from now.

Jody really needs a drink.

The crash course in baby care finally comes to a halt when Jody catches Castiel jerking his head back, as if he’d caught himself about to nod off. When she asks him if he wants to stop for now and take a nap, he frowns and shakes his head, but she can see his eyelids drooping. “It’s okay to be exhausted,” Jody tells him. He gives her a mutinous look, so she nods towards the Nephil, tucked up beneath the trench coat. “You should try to sleep whenever she does.” Before he can protest, Jody stands and stretches. By the time she’s done, Castiel is curled into the corner of the couch, lightly snoring.

Not wanting to disturb him, Jody heads outside. She figured Dean wouldn’t be far behind her, and wasn’t surprised when he joined her on the porch a few minutes later, two opened bottles of beer dangling from his fingers. Jody gratefully accepts the offering.

“So, what’s the verdict with ‘Mama Cas‘?” Dean asks, after taking a sip of his own beer. “Is he hopeless?”

Jody considers the beer in her hand a moment before answering. “Considering the fact that he’s from a species that has no parental instinct whatsoever, and that the baby was unexpected, I think he’s doing rather well. Danielle seems to be healthy, and he’s willing to learn how to take care of her - even if he doesn’t understand why he has to do certain things. Like talking to her, for example; he doesn’t see the need to talk to her, since she doesn’t understand him anyway.”

“Huh.“ Dean ponders this. “Never really thought about that; yeah, he doesn’t say much to her beyond a polite greeting when he wakes up, or to tell her not to chew on his wings. Cas ain’t much of a talker, anyway.”

“I’m going to bring over some children’s books tomorrow - hope you don‘t mind Dr. Seuss. Maybe you can get him to read them to her?”

Dean huffs. “Maybe.” Then he grins. “I’m tryin’ to imagine Cas reading a kid’s book. I’m sure that‘ll go really well.”

“So long as he’s talking to her, does it matter?”

Dean says he supposes not. Then he sighs. “I just… I wish he was handling this better. Be more _motherly_.”

“He’s more like an animal mother, one that cares for its young as long as necessary and doesn’t give them another thought once they’re old enough to fend for themselves.” Castiel‘s whole attitude towards parenting had reminded her of the cats and dogs she‘d had growing up. It had made her wince a little, but then, _not human_.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Dean blurts out. “She has emotions like a human; he’s said so himself. She needs more than… _attachment_. I get that he‘s not wired for this, really I do, it‘s just…” He waves his arm around emphatically, sloshing his beer. “She deserves more.”

“And she has you to give it to her. And Sam, and, Hell, even Bobby sounded fond of her over the phone.” Which had gone a long way towards persuading her to do this favor to Bobby. “He’s very lucky to have friends like you.”

“Yeah…” Dean runs his fingers through his hair. “We had a bit of a… falling out, recently. He betrayed our trust, and we… well, we didn’t part friends.”

“By ‘falling out,’ do you mean a little misunderstanding, or…?”

“Think ‘apocalyptic.’ He can’t go through with it now, but he still doesn’t see what he’s doing is _wrong._ ”

Jody wonders about Castiel’s side of the story. During their talk, Jody had come away with the feeling that Castiel loyalty wasn’t just a word to him; it was an integral part of his being, like breathing was for a human. And his loyalty was focused on Dean. She couldn’t imagine Castiel recklessly endangering him without good reason.

“He needs your full support.”

“I’m doing everything I can to help -” Dean begins.

“Dean, he nearly _died_ delivering her. I don’t know anything about angelic pregnancy, but he obviously should have received some sort of pre-natal care. And probably post-natal, too.” It frustrates her to see someone suffering like this and be helpless to do anything about it. “He needs you to be there for him, one hundred percent.”

“He tell you that?” Dean looks wounded at the thought that Castiel had trusted her with this information, but not him.

“No… but it was pretty easy to read between the lines. It sounds like it literally takes a village to raise an angel child, and he has to take on all that responsibility alone. _Mostly_ alone,” she hastily amends. 

“I’m amazed he’s even making the effort,” Dean admits. “In his place, any other angel would have killed her. Hell, he almost did kill her, and I don’t understand why he didn’t. Much as I hate to say it, he had every reason to.” 

Jody can make a guess… it was painfully obvious, after her talk with the angel. Castiel fought against hardwired instinct because she’s _Dean’s_ child. Whatever happened between them, the angel still trusts Dean.

“I won’t abandon them, Jody. What happened between us… I won’t let my emotions get in the way of taking care of family.” He‘s silent for a long moment. “Thank you,” Dean says finally.

“For what? Helping?” Jody shrugs it off. “I know how scary it can be, being a new mother. I don’t mind helping out someone in need.”

“Well, that… and for not freaking out about Danielle. I know she’s not exactly a pretty baby.”

“But she’s still a baby, and she still deserves the best care she can receive. Besides… if I’d had the choice between a baby with tentacles, or a baby with poopy diapers… I’d’ve picked the tentacled baby.”

They settle in to an easy rapport after that. Jody even lets him get away with calling her by name, rather than keep addressing her as Sheriff. She manages to weasel out of him his own feelings towards his unexpected parenthood, and is pleased that Dean not only wants to be a father, he already has some experience.

But this will only work if he can get past whatever had ruined their friendship, because there’s no way that Mama Cas… Oh, _Hell_ …

She smacks him upside the head. “Sonuvabitch, Dean! ’Mama Cas’? You _had_ to say it, didn’t you? Now I can’t _not_ think of him that way!”

~oOo~

After about an hour, Dean goes off to order pizza, his treat for helping out (never mind that the price of one pizza didn‘t exactly offset the cost of the burgers Castiel had scarfed down). He looks disgusted by her choice of a Hawaiian pizza, and pointedly orders a meat-lovers for himself, as well as three other pies with a variety of toppings for Castiel to try.

Jody raises her eyebrow. “He really needs three pizzas?”

Dean snorts. “He could probably eat twice that, and still be hungry. I’m only splurging tonight because one of his brothers is less of a dick than I thought and is gonna help me keep Cas properly fed.”

They wait outside for the pizza, not wanting to let a stranger inside Castiel’s safe haven.   
Dean’s telling her about some of the hunts he’s been on, keeping to the more humorous stories in an effort to either shield her or keep her from getting nightmares. She particularly loves the story about the parallel universe and having to play at being actors. Dean’s deep into a story about a ‘lucky’ rabbit’s foot when there’s the sound of a vehicle coming up the drive. 

“Must be the pizza man,” Dean says, heading towards the car.

His words summoned up a raging whirlwind of flaring coat, wild hair, and burning blue eyes. Jody gapes at the previously docile angel, who had literally appeared out of nowhere, who is now bringing the wrath of God down upon an acne-scarred teenager who looks about to wet himself.

Castiel is yelling something about a baby-sitter and spanking, and when he gives a flick of his hand, a blade slips out of his coat sleeve and into his palm. Dean skids to a stop between the angel and the pizza man, his hand closing over Castiel’s wrist before the angel can do anything drastic.

“Cas, no, that’s not why he’s here! This isn’t a porno! No smiting the pizza man!”

Jody decides she doesn’t want to know. Otherwise, as the Law, she might have to get involved.

After whacking Dean for letting an angel watch pornography, of course. She’s pretty sure there’s a special Hell for that.

The delivery man manages to escape unscathed, with a big tip (but probably not big enough to make up for being threatened by a wild-eyed crazy man with a sword in one hand and a tentacle monster baby in the other.)

Jody rather likes getting both dinner and entertainment out of this. It’s much nicer than a microwave dinner alone in front of the TV.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. They sit around the coffee table in the living room, the TV tuned to the evening news. Castiel had protested, preferring to watch cartoons, and Dean had to show him that the ‘pony show’ wasn’t on before Castiel had lapsed into sullen silence.

Dean pulls Danielle into his lap, and she burbles happily and snuggles against him. Once she’s settled, she resumes watching Jody with that solemn gaze all babies have. She extends one tentacle towards Jody, lightly brushing her arm with a velvet-soft tip. Like she’s seen Dean do, Jody offers her fingertips, letting Danielle twine the flexible limb through her fingers. Castiel tenses, but permits the touch. She smiles softly, and after a moment the tentacle withdraws to wrap around Dean’s torso.

Now that they’re all settled, (and _holy shit,_ can Castiel put away pizza!) Jody decides to bring up a curious incident that had crossed her desk the other night.

“Something happened a couple nights ago that might be right up your alley. A McDonalds in Sioux Falls was leveled. News is reporting it as a gas leak, but that doesn’t explain why the crew and customers found themselves suddenly transported outside the city limits before it blew. Any thoughts?”

Before Dean can answer, Castiel says sheepishly, “I’m the one responsible.” When they both turn to look at him, he ducks his head and continues, “I craved large quantities of food before Danielle was born, and that is where I ended up. I was unaware of what was happening, so I did not think to leave and save the building from destruction.” 

“Don’t worry, Castiel, no one was hurt,” Jody assures him. “You did good.”

“My kid was born in a McDonalds?!”

“I am very sorry, Dean. Had I known what was happening, I would have made certain Danielle was born in the Impala.” 

The slice of pizza Dean had been bringing to his mouth drops with a thud.

“Dude… are you making a joke?” Dean asks incredulously.

Castiel smiles slowly. “I know you would not have wanted her born in your car; even you would not have been able to repair it after. But Sam often thinks that any children you have would be born in the back seat of the Impala. Where they were conceived.”

Dean stares. “Don’t read Sam’s thoughts anymore. It sounds like scary things go on in that big brain of his. Hey, greedy-guts, you’re eating Jody’s pizza.”

Jody glances down at the table and realizes her pizza box has somehow migrated in front of Castiel.

Castiel freezes, cheeks pouched out from his mouthful, cheese dribbling down his chin. “I’m sorry,” Castiel says apologetically, replacing the half-eaten piece in the box and sliding it over to Jody. “I’m still hungry.”

He’s so pitifully thin, and looks so genuinely contrite, that Jody slides the box back towards him. “It’s okay, I was done anyway. Help yourself.”

He rewards her with that small smile and proceeds to demolish the Hawaiian pizza. Two pieces from finishing, he looks up and says, “This is my favorite.”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Haven’t I taught you anything?”

Castiel ignores him in favor of inhaling the last couple pieces.

Their peaceful dinner is interrupted when Dean’s cell rings. Dean talks to Sam for a few minutes, and years of interrogation tell Jody that Dean is being careful how he talks to his brother, to keep from revealing too much (to her? Or to Castiel?) They’re about to disconnect when Danielle suddenly jerks to attention.

“Peep?”

Her gaze darts around frantically, and when she fails to find what she’s looking for, she grows louder. Danielle’s eyes roll around wildly, and her piping noises become more frantic.

“What’s wrong with her?” Dean stares down at his daughter worriedly.

“She hears Sam‘s voice,” Castiel explains. “She’s looking for him. She’s very distressed that he’s not here.” Danielle isn’t the only one who’s distressed, judging from the look on Castiel’s face. “I don’t know how to make her understand that Sam will be gone for a few days.”

“Let him talk to her,” Jody suggests. “She still won’t understand, but it’ll do her some good to hear his voice, especially if she’s that attached to him.”

Dean obligingly holds the phone close to Danielle, calling, “Talk to your niece, Aunt Sammy, she misses you!”

They can hear Sam’s voice over the speaker, barely audible, but higher in pitch than normal as he talks to the baby. When he stops speaking, Danielle responds with various noises, and they can hear Sam’s delighted, tinny laughter over the line. This goes on for almost ten minutes, finally ending when Danielle yawns and wiggles her limbs at Castiel. Dean grins and tells Sam he’d been forgotten in favor of her before-bed bottle.

Jody watches Castiel go about this still-new ritual, and quickly realizes he doesn’t need any supervision. He may be new to the whole parenting gig, but he handles everything with great care, from preparing the bottle to cradling the blanket-wrapped Danielle in a very stable position in his arms while she drinks. When Danielle is busy sucking away, Castiel looks up at Jody nervously, as if to ask if he’s doing all right. She gives him an encouraging smile, and he relaxes.

As fast as he learns, Jody’s certain he’ll be okay.

“Dean, we’re getting low on formula,” Castiel says anxiously.

“No problem, I’ll just run into town -”

“No, Dean… you can’t just leave…I can‘t be alone!” Castiel chokes out, his body jolting upright.

It’s the first time she’s seen the angel afraid. Danielle pipes shrilly in response to her parent’s terror.

“She needs food, Cas. I won’t be gone long - an hour, at most.”

Castiel looks about ready to have a panic attack.

“You can ask me, you know,” Jody says wryly. When Dean and Castiel both turn to look at her blankly, she says, “To pick up formula. I can bring it by tomorrow.” She’s a little amazed by their surprise - are they not used to having people offer to help them?

“Thank you,” Castiel says, his face smoothing back into that inscrutable expression, but Jody can see the relief in his eyes.

“Thanks,” Dean echoes. “He’s still a little… nervous about being left by himself.”

Nervous, Jody thinks, is putting it mildly.

Soothed, Castiel yawns, stretches… and flops across the couch, his head in Dean’s lap. “Dude, what -?” Castiel paws at the cushions and wriggles until he’s settled as deeply into the couch as he can get, then sighs and closes his eyes, Danielle clutched tight to him. Dean rolls his eyes.

“He’s usually a lot more badass than this,” Dean says sheepishly. “This cuddly side of his came with the baby.”

Jody hides a smile. The angel has let his guard down completely, his body no longer tense, his face free of worry lines. He still looks exhausted, and Jody knows from experience that that’s not going go away any time soon. Danielle, curled against his chest and beneath his hand, looks content. The three of them make an adorable picture, but she won‘t tell Dean that. “I don’t know what he did to make you not trust him,” she says at last, “but he sure trusts you. Completely.”

“Guess so,” Dean says, frowning. 

Jody hopes that they can work out whatever it is, because more than any other baby Jody has known, Danielle _needs_ both of her parents. As a hybrid, she’ll benefit best from having family of each species helping to raise her. 

Dean struggles to extricate himself from Castiel, but the angel growls and presses closer to Dean. There’s a peculiar rustling, and Dean sighs in resignation. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere tonight. When Cas gets his wings out, he’s usually not going to move again until morning.”

“His wings? So he does have them?” Jody studies the sleeping angel, but she doesn’t see any sign of wings. Thought the shadow falling over the two of them looks deeper than it should be.

“They’re invisible; on another plane, or something, Cas says. I can feel them, though, and he’s got one wrapped around himself and Dani - that’s why she looks kinda squished - and he’s got the arch covering his head and pinning down my legs. I‘m not allowed to move once they’re asleep,” Dean says wryly. “Not if I don’t want to be impaled, anyway.”

Despite his light tone, she suspects he’s not actually joking.

“So… you gonna tell me how you ended up with an angel in your lap and a tentacled baby?”

“It’s a long story,” Dean protests.

“Not like you’re going anywhere,” Jody smirks, and takes a sip of her beer. “And tomorrow’s my day off, so I‘m in no hurry to leave.”

Dean’s silent for such a long time that Jody begins to wonder if it was too personal, and she’s about to tell him he doesn’t have to say anything, when he clears his throat and begins, “It all started with my parents…” It all comes pouring out: His mother’s deal with a demon to save his father; the yellow-eyed demon who’d killed his mother and changed Sam; the years-long quest to hunt the demon, which had resulted in Sam’s death and Dean selling his soul; dying, going to Hell, and being rescued and resurrected by Castiel… At this point he stops and gazes down at the sleeping angel, his expression unreadable. He continues the tale, taking her through the Apocalypse and beyond, and finally concluding with how he came to be sitting on Bobby’s couch with an angel’s head in his lap and a strange little infant who’s obviously already very important to him.

It’s an incredible tale, and if the proof wasn‘t laying sprawled across the couch, Jody would have thought Dean was delusional. Or drunk, anyway. It’s also not the whole story; Dean hasn’t mentioned what had happened between him and Castiel to strain their relationship, but Jody’s not going to press the issue.

“Huh,” Dean says. “I think that’s the first time I’ve actually told anyone the whole story. Kinda feels good to share it with someone who won’t lock me in a padded cell.”

“Don’t have access to a padded one; could get you a stay in a jail cell. Again.” Jody smirks.

Jody stays until Dean finally settles back into the couch cushion, looking uncomfortable but resigned. When she’d asked if she could get him anything to make him more comfortable, he’d assured he’d slept worse, and had drifted off sometime during the local news. Jody decides it’s time to take her leave, and resists the urge to find a blanket to cover the sleepers with - Castiel would probably misconstrue it as an attack on his infant.

She gives them one last look before heading out the door, and sees Castiel’s free hand is now draped over Dean’s knee, and he’s snuggled closer to Dean’s stomach. The faith he places in Dean, that he’ll keep Castiel and Danielle safe while he sleeps, is touching.

She wonders how Dean has no idea that Castiel loves him.

~oOo~

It’s Dean’s favorite dream: the strip club with its lurid posters, the stage with the strippers dressed as sexy versions of whatever monster they happen to be hunting that week, the speakers blasting “Cherry Pie” on an endless loop. This time around the girls, a blond and a dusky-skinned brunette, are strangely domestic, with one wearing a barely there French maid’s outfit and brandishing a feather duster, and the other in just an apron, a string of pearls, and stiletto heels that add half a foot to her height.

Dean leans back into his comfortable chair, content for now to watch the girl-on-girl action. Soon enough, they’ll be begging for him to join in.

“Peep?”

“I see… you associate pie with acts of debauchery.”

Castiel is sitting on the seat next to him, Danielle on his lap. They’re both staring at the gyrating strippers with rapt fascination.

Well, this is a new twist to the dream. Dean’s not particularly thrilled with it. Girl-on-girl porn is not an experience he wants to share with his naïve angel and his newborn daughter there to judge him.

“Is this why you enjoy pie so much?”

It takes Dean a moment to realize Castiel is referring to the stripper with the apron, who has somehow produced a pie which she is now sharing with the maid. They‘ve managed to make the simple act of eating into something obscene, and Dean’s missing it. “Dude, no! I don’t have sexual feelings for pie!” Shit. He’s not going to be able to eat pie again, is he? If he does, Castiel will give him That Look. “Are you actually here?”

Castiel turns to Dean. “I sensed that Danielle was about to dreamwalk. I chose to accompany her to keep her out of danger.”

“So she can just stroll into my dreams now? They’re not usually a safe place for a baby.” Not to mention the fact that having them here is making him feel guilty as hell, like he’s been caught cheating.

“She’s not doing it purposely,” Castiel says apologetically. “Her powers are still developing, and she has no control yet. I guided her into yours, because you were within her range, and I didn’t want her in a stranger’s subconscious. Would you prefer she end up in someone else’s dreams?”

Now that Dean thinks about it, he realizes he doesn’t like the thought of some strange person waking up and thinking Dani is some sort of nightmare creature. Better she come into his dreams.

The strippers have reached the ‘heavy petting’ stage of Dean’s dream, and instead of being turned on, Dean’s horrified. His daughter is way too young to be seeing this! He makes an effort to shield her, but it turns out that covering the eyes of someone who has them all over her body is an exercise in futility. “Okay, Cas… how do we get outta here? She really doesn’t need to be seeing this.” He looks over at Cas, who is watching the kissing women with his head cocked, brow furrowed in confusion. “Neither do you, for that matter,” Dean says, waving his hand in front of Cas‘ face to get his attention.

“Oh,” is all Castiel says. He flicks his hand, and suddenly they’re on a pier overlooking a calm lake surrounded by a lush forest. The sun is either rising or setting, tingeing everything reddish-orange, and there’s a cool breeze rustling through the leaves. Dean recognizes the peaceful setting as the one where Castiel had come to him when he’d made his first attempt to defy Heaven.

At the sight of all that water, Danielle squeals and struggles to break free of Castiel’s grip.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Dean says. “We let you loose in there, we’ll never see you again.”

Castiel looks amused. “It’s a dream, Dean. No matter how far out she swims, she‘ll always be within reach. And the water is perfectly safe; I will not let you have nightmares in my daughter’s presence.” With that, he lowers her into the water, and she immediately begins propelling herself across the lake, making sounds that are a cross between blowing raspberries and going ‘putputput‘. She sounds a bit like a motorboat with engine problems.

And Castiel is right about Danielle’s inability to get too far; whenever it looks like she’s dwindling in the distance, all Dean has to do is look down, and there she is, swimming around the pier beneath them.

Dean grins at her obvious enjoyment. “You sure she’s not half fish?” Unlike the awkward flopping about she does on land, her movement through the water is mostly graceful.

“She definitely favors my sea aspect,” Castiel muses. “It will be fascinating to see what she will grow into.”

Castiel’s interest in Danielle’s future is promising, and Dean hides a victorious grin. Dani _will_ win Cas over, Dean’s sure of it. He turns to Cas to make a snarky comment, but the words die in his throat at the sight of the massive black shapes curving up above Castiel’s shoulders before sweeping down around him like a glossy cloak.

He can see Castiel’s _wings_.

Even half-furled as they are, Dean can tell they’ll be enormous when fully spread, with primary feathers easily as long as Dean is tall. In color they’re an iridescent black, currently catching and reflecting back the reds and oranges of the sky. 

Dean can’t help it; he reaches towards the leading edge of the closest one, and Castiel obligingly extends it towards him. Beneath his fingers the feathers feel incredibly soft and flexible, though Dean bets they’re as strong as steel, or even diamond. They look like bird feathers, except they’re dotted with peculiar nodules that almost look like tumorous growths - until Dean touches one and it slits open, revealing a pupilless eye the color of amethyst. Dean jerks back in surprise. Right. _Eyes_. Danielle is covered in them because Castiel is.

Nimble fingers find the arch of Castiel’s wing, feeling the bone beneath the flesh. Although the wing seems to be articulated like a bird’s, he thinks he can feel multiple joints along the ’arm’ bones, meaning the wing is likely far more flexible than it appears.

Castiel is watching him with his head tilted, obviously curious what Dean’s verdict is going to be. “These are awesome, Cas!”

“Thank you,” Castiel says gravely.

Dean can’t seem to pull his fingers away, and from the way Castiel arches his wing into the touch, he obviously enjoys the caress. He probes the frayed edges of the primaries, which he assumes was caused by Danielle in her search for a chew toy, and lingers over a batch of feathers along the leading edge that feel brittle, and crumble beneath his touch. “Shit, Cas… I didn’t mean…” He jerks his hand away.

Castiel shrugs, his expression neutral. “Damage from holy fire is slow to heal. The feathers will molt soon enough.”

Dean feels sick. “Holy fire? You mean, _we_ did this when we trapped you?” Suddenly, his comments about deep-frying angels are no longer so funny.

“No permanent damage was done.” His voice is flat, reminding Dean of how he’d sounded when they first met. Yeah… maybe there isn’t any permanent _physical_ damage, but Dean guesses he’s not going to get over being trapped by people he trusts any time soon.

Dean turns away, feeling a little surge of guilt. Even though he feels justified in trapping the angel, it still bothers him that he’d felt he had to. Because of this, he fails to notice when Castiel gives a flick of his wing -

\- and suddenly Dean finds himself in the water, gasping and sputtering indignantly. Danielle is immediately there, weaving around his thrashing limbs and giving off that ‘laughter’ vibe.

“What the Hell, Cas? My clothes - !” It’s a stupid thing to worry about, he knows, since this is a dream and he could probably comfortably swim in a tuxedo, top hat, and monocle, but it just isn’t right. He can imagine that he feels his soaked jacket and jeans dragging him down into the (admittedly shallow) depths of the lake.

“This is your dream, Dean. Just picture yourself in swimming attire, and you will be wearing it.”

Oh. Right. Dean thinks ‘swim trunks’ and when he looks down, his clothes are gone.

Dean wonders if he can dream up a few beach bunnies as easily. But he decides now isn’t the time for it, since his two-day-old daughter is still swimming around him, trying to tug him around as though he were her stuffed octopus.

“Just remember that isn’t real water,” Castiel says, as Danielle’s tugs get more insistent, “and you will be able to breath in it.”

Dean sinks downward, into the depths of the lake. Despite the depth, the water is crystal clear, and the bottom is clean white sand that would be more at home in ocean shallows. Fish of various species dodge through a forest of seaweed: Dean recognizes bass, bluegill, and pike from childhood fishing expeditions with Bobby, coexisting with colorful schools that look like they come straight out of _Finding Nemo_. Danielle follows one school, then another, looking completely at home with the fish.

Dean settles against the bottom and just watches. As long as he doesn’t think about being underwater, he forgets that he shouldn’t be able to breathe. He’s completely comfortable, able to enjoy his daughter’s antics. A glance upward shows Castiel is laying on his belly along the dock, head hanging over to watch. His wings are spread and rest on the water’s surface, all eyes open and fixed on Danielle. It’s… eerie, and a little nauseating, but it’s _Cas._

He’s not sure how long he watches his daughter when something changes. The water shivers and turns solid around him, and he begins to rise upward. Danielle seems to have disappeared completely.

He seems to be encased in a massive soap bubble, which slowly drifts upward until it breaks the surface of the lake. He glances downward, towards his feet, and is suddenly distracted by a far more pressing issue: he’s wearing lacy pink panties. The _Hell?!_

He scrabbles around, unable to find purchase against the bubble’s slick surface, and ends up crouching in the curved bowl of the bottom, hands braced against the sides. He orients on Castiel, who’s now standing with wings spread, when his attention is caught by the sky.

The sun has set, revealing a sky that looks like something out of _Star Trek,_ if it had had an unlimited budget: millions of stars hang against the velvety blackness of space, misty, multi-color nebulas span the sky from horizon to horizon, and lush planets hang impossibly close, making Dean feel as if he can reach out and touch them.

_Wow._ Dean’s never dreamed a sky like this before; in comparison, his previous dreams seemed depressingly mundane.

“Cas, what’s going on?” Dean pokes at the bubble, which flexes under the pressure but doesn’t burst. A smaller bubble floats up next to his, with Danielle clinging to the outside. Her downy wings flop around wildly, sending her rotating until she’s hanging upside down. She seems utterly delighted by this, because she continues her uncoordinated flapping to keep herself spinning.

Castiel shuffles nervously. “I was trying something out. I… I want to be more creative. For Danielle‘s sake. I do not want her to be like an angel, Dean. But if you don‘t like it, I‘ll undo it.”

Bubbles wouldn’t have been Dean’s first choice, but Castiel is _trying_. If Castiel wants to change for Danielle‘s sake, who is Dean to discourage that?

“It’s okay, Cas… Experiment all you want. Just… don’t put me in panties anymore, okay?”

“Your attire isn’t my doing,” Castiel says. “It is entirely the fault of your subconscious.” He tilts his head, obviously wondering why Dean would choose such an outfit. Dean’s kinda wondering that himself.

“Oh.” Now that he’s examining them more closely, he recognizes them as Rhonda Hurley’s panties. Huh… maybe he’d liked them more than he thought. “So, uh, why the bubbles?”

“I want to show you something.” With that, Castiel gives a might flap of his wings, sending Dean and Danielle drifting upward. As the ground drops away at an alarming rate, taking Dean’s stomach with it, Dean curls into a fetal position, suddenly afraid that the previously-impenetrable bubble will pop and send him drifting off into space.

Beside him, Danielle’s bubble bumps into his, adhering to it like a motorcycle sidecar. She makes a disappointed peep that she can’t spin around anymore.

Castiel appears beside them, startling Dean. For the first time, he’s actually seeing the angel fly, and it looks nowhere near as awkward as Dean had expected. Even clad in a human body, which isn’t designed for flight, Castiel is graceful. His movements are as fluid in the air as Danielle’s are in water. Perhaps because he has an audience, he executes a tight barrel roll, then breaks off into a dive that makes Dean’s heart jump into his throat. He pulls up, wheels, spins, flies backwards… it’s a dizzying display of prowess, and Dean has to admit he’s impressed. Danielle watches in awestruck fascination.

When one wingtip grazes the edge of Dean’s bubble, he cries out in protest.

“You’re quite safe, Dean,” Castiel says softly, backwinging to hover in the air in front of Dean. “The bubble will not burst, and even if it did, this is a dream. You would be able to breath here as well as you could under water, and you would not fall.”

Dean finds that hard to believe. This is _his_ dream, after all, and if he believes it can happen, then it can, right? “But what if I do fall?”

“Then I would catch you.” Castiel sounds so confidant of this that Dean finds himself relaxing. Dean uncurls and risks a look downward (or what he assumes is down; it’s below his feet, anyway). The lake is long gone; all there is now is space. It actually makes him calmer, now that there is no longer any sense of height.

Castiel hangs suspended before him, and as Dean watches, his wings close and shrivel. As they vanish, however, something else erupts out of Castiel’s back, transforming the angel into a being of sound and fury, of fire and pure light. He wonders if he should be shutting his eyes, but they don’t seem to be boiling out of their sockets, don’t even hurt. Still Dean has to squint, and deep within the seething heart, he glimpses something utterly alien, something with wings and antlers and tentacles. It should be bizarre, but somehow, it works.

It’s no wonder a glimpse of Castiel had inspired Lovecraft to write of ancient, alien gods that drive men mad. There’s nothing human about the angel.

Abruptly, the light dims, leaving the trench coated Castiel hanging between two glorious, gleaming appendages of blue-white light.

They resemble wings by shape only; they look like they’re made of shards of glass, or prisms, and sparks of light, and they trail across the heavens like the tail of a comet. They’re vast, filling the star-studded sky, yet somehow remain perfectly in proportion to Cas.

Dean blinks, dazzled by what he had seen. “You have another set of wings?” Dean has trouble taking them in; they’re just so huge, and they leave a blurry after-image after the slightest movement.

“I have two pairs of wings, yes.”

“Why have I only ever seen the one?”

“My other pair are on a plane that intersects your own, which is why they can be seen as light or shadow. But these… not even the rare human with the ability to see true forms can see these. These wings are meant for Heaven.” They sweep downward, and the sky seems to warp and ripple in their wake. Dean almost expects to be blown across the galaxy, but the bubbles bob along behind Castiel, as though tethered. “We’re almost there - look.” 

Below him is all clouds green and brown, blue and gold and colors he has no name for, with stars twinkling in their depths. Brown, serpentine structures rear across an endless sky of deep green. Dean suddenly wishes he had more than a GED, because it’s the kind of thing he suspects people would wax poetic about. It’s _magnificent._ “Cas… is this Heaven?” Dean breathes.

“On your plane of existence, it’s known as the Eagle Nebula. Those columns are called the Pillars of Creation. Humans have no idea how right they are.” He smiles shyly at Dean, and says softly. “This is where I was created. Or born, if you prefer.”

The sight is awe-inspiring, and Dean is beyond words. “It’s beautiful, Cas,” he finally manages. Inadequate, perhaps, but it’s the best he can do. Briefly, he wishes Sam were here to geek out over this, then changes his mind. He wants this moment to belong only to him and Danielle and Cas.

And then Dean wonders if he should even be there at all. Castiel doesn’t dream, and therefore has no dreamscape he can manipulate; Dean may merely be the means by which Castiel can share his heritage with Danielle. Suddenly, he feels like a third wheel in a private family moment.

“I think… I think it’s great that you shared this with Dani. Since she’ll never see it in person, I mean.” Dean forces a smile, not wanting to be the one to ruin the moment.

Castiel tilts his head, as if sensing Dean‘s gloom. “I didn’t do this just for Danielle‘s sake.” Castiel smiles. “I wanted to share it with you, too.” He holds out his hand, through the bubble, and Dean takes it. “Let me show you.”

 

~tbc~

 

Look up the Eagle Nebula in Google Images. It’s gorgeous!

I apologize to anyone who wanted to know what happened between Jody and Cas. I considered writing it, but it basically would have been a rehash of angel reproduction, followed by me showing off that I know nothing about children. Trust me, it’s better this way.

Also… much to my annoyance, a couple weeks ago I had the idea for another twisted mpreg. So much for my vow that I will never write one, EVER. *headdesk* This one involves crazy!Cas from the end of season 7, and a Nephil that looks like a car-sized, glittery pink puffball with wings. Because I’m demented like that, apparently…


	8. The Quickest Way to His Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the wrong things are said, Castiel has Feelings, and Dean may be a jealous bitch, but he firmly denies it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait… I’ve had to deal with several Real Life issues, including a bout of the flu that just wouldn’t go away. This chapter should be using up the last of the cutesy scenes I had planned, so maybe now, finally, I can get somewhere with the plot. I’m shooting for twelve chapters, total, though knowing me, I’ll probably go over.

Eight - The Quickest Way to His Heart

 

Dean wakes up with a monstrous crick in his neck, a Nephil sucking on his ear, and a need to pee which isn’t helped by the weight of the angel who’d somehow managed to crawl further into his lap. He wonders how he’s going to be able to free himself without Castiel instinctively switching to ‘kill’ mode.

“Cas?” Dean tries, his voice as soft and non-threatening as he can make it. Danielle peeps with delight and disengages from his ear to roll off his shoulder and land with a _plop_ on Castiel’s head. Castiel grumbles something in what Dean assumes is Enochian and snuggles closer to Dean’s stomach. _Not_ helping his bladder any…

“C’mon, man, wake up, please? I’m pretty sure pissing on an angel of the Lord is some sort of sin.”

Castiel opens his eyes and scrunches his brow. “You make a habit of it,” he points out, voice more gravelly than usual with sleep. “Your first conversation with me was designed to make me angry.”

Danielle warbles her customary morning greeting as soon as Castiel’s eyes open, and she squishes herself against his temple and cheek. Goo slips down Castiel’s forehead and pools in Dean’s lap. Castiel’s clothes are slick with it; Dean’s going to have to find him more clothing. And possibly a rain coat.

“Not ‘pissing off’, Cas, ‘pissing _on_ .’ I gotta take a leak.” The furrows in Castiel’s brow deepen. “ _Pee_ , Cas.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Cas grimaces and touches his stomach, right over the tear. He’d lost his hot water bottle sometime during the night, and is clearly feeling the ache. He slowly sits upright, Danielle slithering down his chest and into his lap. Dean huffs in relief as the pressure is relieved. Now that he’s no longer in imminent danger of an accident, his curiosity gets the better of him.

“So, did that really happen?” Dean asks.

“The dream walk? Yes.” Castiel spies the hot water bottle and tries to bend over to grab it. Judging from the groan that slips between his lips, he‘s still hurting more than he lets on. Dean bites back the need to ask if Castiel is okay.

“You can go anywhere, right? Like… Disney World?” Dean seems to remember as a child wanting to go Disney World, and being told they’d all go as soon as Sammy was old enough. It had never happened, of course. Since then, it had become a symbol of happy, normal families, something they all did together. Maybe they could draw Sam in, too, and finally visit the Magic Kingdom.

At least in a dream, he wouldn’t feel creepy about being a single guy in his thirties hanging around a park full of children.

Or worse: a single guy in his thirties, a hairless Sasquatch, an angel in a creeper trench coat, the world’s most adorable Lovecraftian horror, and Bobby hanging around a park full of children.

Castiel frowns. “I can only take us to places where one of us has been. I have never been to Disney World. Have you?”

So much for having an awesome family vacation without any of the crowds. He huffs out a sigh. “No. And I don’t think Dani’d be too impressed by all the motel rooms that make up most of my memories.” Well, motel rooms, abandoned houses, graveyards, jail cells… Hell… Yeah, there weren’t many places in Dean’s memories that were suitable for a family vacation. Sam, on the other hand, had spent time in California. Maybe he’d gone to Disneyland? Or at least a beach full of college girls in bikinis?

“I have been to many locations around the world since its creation, including places long lost to time. I may be able to take you somewhere you will enjoy.”

“What, you mean, like with dinosaurs?” Dean asks.

“If you’d like. I have visited all eras in which dinosaurs have existed, as well as time periods in which the megafauna thrived.” Castiel stares off into space, apparently reliving it. “I’ve taken several species of dinosaurs as vessels,” he says, voice distant.

Dean hadn’t been serious, but he had to admit, that was awesome. He vaguely recalled having a couple of plastic dinosaurs as a child, in that barely remembered time before his mom had died, and part of him was excited at the prospect of seeing them in the flesh, so to speak. “We’ll be safe, right? They can’t eat us?”

“They’ll be memories, Dean, not real animals. We will be perfectly fine.”

So no, ‘You die in your dreams, you die in real live’ scenario. That’s a relief.

Castiel tilts his head and eyes Dean. “I thought you needed to… take a leak,” he says slowly.

Oh. Right. He leaves Castiel to refresh his hot water bottle while he wanders off towards the bathroom, mentally reviewing what needs to be done for the day.

Sam and Bobby won’t reach Providence until tonight, so his support services won’t be needed until tomorrow. He has to keep an ear out for the phones, in case any hunter needs advice or a phony ID verified, but other than that, his schedule’s wide open.

Dean has no idea what to do with himself. The only time he’s ever had this much free time was when he’d needed to recover from injury or illness, and then he’d usually been bed-ridden and stuck watching porn or daytime television until he’d recovered. This freedom to do whatever he wants is new to him. 

He takes care of business in the bathroom, then heads off to find some clothes for Cas.

Dean hunts around and finds a pair of well-worn jeans that he’d been forced to retire due to a couple of nearly indecent worn spots. He’d kept them in case he’d need to use them to patch another pair of jeans, but figures Cas can use them for now; it’s not like the angel’s going out in public any time soon. A frayed, faded T-shirt joins the jeans. As for socks, Dean had bought a pack when he’d gone baby shopping for Dani, because he really doesn’t want to share socks.

He also pulls out one of Sam’s Stanford hoodies, which hasn’t fit his brother since he’d gone from gawky law student to mini-Hulk. It’s already stained, so Danielle’s goo can’t do too much damage, and thick enough that it shouldn’t soak through too easily. 

He returns to Cas and shoves the clothes at him. The angel accepts them with a faintly bemused smile, as if the whole concept of changing clothes daily is a silly human foible that he doesn’t understand but indulges anyway. He immediately begins to strip, and Dean rolls his eyes. Modesty being another such concept that the angel just doesn’t get.

For once, Castiel’s lack of modesty is a good thing; Dean doesn’t want to risk the angel’s ire again by asking him how he’s feeling, so when Cas peels off his shirt, Dean sneaks a look at the wound still livid against the pale flesh of his stomach. It doesn’t seem to have healed any since Dean’s last look two days ago, but at least it isn’t any worse.

He turns away before Cas can strip off his pants, because, really, he’s seen more of the angel’s junk than he’s ever wanted to.

When he turns back, Castiel has managed to pull on the jeans and T-shirt. He seems to be having some trouble with the hoodie, however, and Dean can hear muffled complaints about Sam’s giant size and his _smell_ coming from the depths of the hoodie. His struggles have made his shirt ride up, giving Dean a look at his too-visible ribs. Yeah, maybe Cas does look better, but that’s something that’s going to take a lot longer to fix.

Speaking of which… “Cas, I need to go outside for a few minutes.” Castiel tenses. “I have to check if Balthazar kept his word and left food for you. Bet you’re looking forward to that, having as much food as you need.”

Castiel’s face peeks out from the neck hole of the voluminous hoodie. “If Balthazar said he would bring food, then it will be there.” The hoodie finally settles over Castiel’s slender frame, with the hood flipped up and covering Castiel’s face down to his nose. Dean snorts back a laugh. “I do look forward to being satiated; I find being perpetually hungry to be an unpleasant experience.” He tries shoving the hood back, but it immediately slips forward again, and Castiel growls.

Castiel finally manages to get the hood to settle around his neck.

“Your brother has a big head,” is all Castiel says.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Fortunately, it holds a big brain.” Dean yanks the hood back over Castiel’s eyes before grabbing up an angel sword and heading outside.

Balthazar hadn’t said where he was leaving the food, so Dean just wandered over to where they’d trapped him the previous day. Sure enough, there are three waist-high food hampers set just outside the limit of the wards. Dean quickly grabs them and hauls them within the protective barrier, then curiously takes a peek inside each one. He has no idea if Balthazar has any idea what constitutes a good meal for beings who need to eat, and he’s a little worried the contents consist entirely of booze and caviar. But it turns out his fears are totally unfounded.

One of them is filled to the brim with fast food bags from various restaurants, with both breakfast and lunch entrees and sides. The second has carefully stacked Styrofoam boxes and whimsically folded foil packages, offerings from better-quality restaurants and diners, Dean assumes. The third hamper is half filled with energy drinks - which Dean would never have thought of, so he has to give Balthazar some credit - and boxes of snacks, including donuts, cakes, cookies… and _pie_ .

Dean wonders if Castiel would even notice the absence of pie. Then he remembers the dreamscape, and vows that he will never, ever eat pie again. Where Castiel can see him.

Balthazar had put a _lot_ of thought and effort into what he’d collected for Castiel. Far more than a mere comrade in arms or casual friend would.

Seriously… just what was their relationship?

“So you’re the Righteous Man.” It’s a woman’s voice, from off to his left. Dean whirls around to face a young blond in a suit, standing just beyond the wards. Her face would be pretty, if it hadn’t been twisted with derision. “You don’t look worth defying Heaven for.” There’s another angel beside her, a man whose vague smile made him look stoned. 

Privately, Dean agrees. But he’s not going to let any winged dick know that. Dean plasters a wide, false smile onto his face. “You must be Hester. And Inias, right?” Stoned angel nods and looks pleased at being identified. Hester’s scowl deepens.

“I don’t understand what Castiel sees in you,” Hester continues. “You’re no different from any other hairless ape on this planet.”

“It’s my charming personality,” Dean says through clenched teeth. “And possibly my perky nipples.”

“Had I been the one to pull you out of Perdition, I would not have fallen so easily to your persuasion.”

Dean’s irritation flares up, and he opens his mouth, ready to show Hester how ’persuasive’ he can be, but Inias smoothly interrupts.

“How are Castiel and the child?” he asks, sounding like he genuinely cares. Hester’s lips flatten, but she cocks her head, obviously curious to hear the answer.

“Fine,” Dean says automatically. Hester glares, and Inias looks immensely disappointed in having caught him in a lie. Dean sighs. “He’s… confused. And in pain, though he won’t admit it. He’s coping so far, but…” Dean shrugs.

“He should have slain the Nephil at its birth,” Hester said. “It would have saved him the pain and humiliation.”

Dean bristles. “That’s my _daughter_ you’re talking about!” He’s about to lunge forward, past the safety of the wards, to throttle Hester, but Inias steps between them.

“Be calm, sister…” There’s a hint of resignation in the angel’s gentle voice, like he knows this is a lost cause, but feels the need to try, anyway. “Had you been the one to free the Righteous Man, the Apocalypse would have went on as planned, and you would not have learned Free Will.” Hester opens her mouth to protest, but Inias continues, “And if you had defied Heaven and we found ourselves where we are now, Raphael may not have forced a Nephil upon you, but I have no doubt he would have found an equally horrific punishment for you.”

Although Hester’s face is still contorted in disgust, she backs down. “So far, there‘s been no sign of Raphael‘s men,” she says grudgingly. “Which is surprising; he must suspect by now that Castiel is here.”

Dean agrees; Raphael would have to be an idiot not to expect Castiel to hare off to hide with his human allies. This should have been the first place he’d looked.

Though if Raphael has figured out by now that Castiel has an alliance with Crowley, it’s possible he believes the demon is hiding him. Hell would be the last place anyone would look for an angel. Dean hopes he’s wasting his time spying on Crowley.

Still, he supposes he should thank Hester and Inias; however they may feel about their assignment, they’re doing it. Inias, especially, seems to actually care about Castiel’s well-being.

Fortunately, Dean is spared the awkwardness of trying to make nice with the angels; they’d vanished as abruptly as they’d appeared. Dean shrugs and heads back to the house, hampers in tow.

~oOo~

Castiel can’t find the show with the ponies, so he leaves it on a program in which a bunch of ignorant humans confuse angelic intervention with alien visitations. They even offer ‘proof’ to back this up.

Castiel thinks it’s supposed to be a comedy. He finds it humorous.

Danielle sits in his lap, absorbing his Grace with greater hunger than she’s exhibited before. The night’s dreamwalking had exhausted her, and she’s famished. He hopes this won’t be a nightly occurrence; he doesn’t think his own shredded Grace could handle her increased hunger for long.

As if in answer to his needs, Dean chooses that moment to return, three heavily-laden hampers dragging behind him. “Check it out!” Dean crows. “What a haul! Balthazar really came through.”

As the smell hits Castiel’s nostrils, his stomach gurgles insistently.

Dean barely has time to move out of the way before Castiel pounces, one hand scooping out wrapped sandwiches from the first hamper, the other grabbing up the three topmost Styrofoam containers from the second. He plops back onto the couch and settles Danielle back in his lap. Dean grabs a bottle of a red liquid that, judging from the label, is made from gators, and sets that in front of him. As Dean pulls out more boxes and arranges them on the coffee table, Castiel exams the thick, juicy steak in the first container he’d opened.

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean has started peeking into the various boxes he’d laid out. “Some of this stuff would sell for a hundred dollars or more at a restaurant! I think. Not that I’ve ever seen a hundred dollar meal.”

Castiel doesn’t care about the value of the food; all that matters is that his body can use it to replenish his Grace and that he can, in turn, provide Danielle with what she needs. For that, any food would do.

“That… is the most beautiful burger I have ever seen,” Dean says, awed. Castiel looks up from his steak to see Dean staring lustfully at an enormous burger which, to Castiel, looks like every other burger he’s ever seen. “It’s like a freaking _gourmet_ burger… and these fries are actual potato wedges…” 

Castiel says, “You may have it, if you’d like,” and goes back to devouring his meal.

“No, man, I couldn’t eat your food. You _need_ it. I’m fine with whatever we have in the fridge.”

“Dean, you have been sharing your food with me, even though my needs have been unreasonable. I don’t mind returning the favor. Letting you have one burger will not significantly impact my food intake.”

The sounds Dean makes while eating it resemble those he makes when he pleasures himself when he thinks no one is around to see. After the dreamwalk’s glimpse into Dean’s psyche, Castiel is vaguely disturbed.

Some time after Dean finishes his burger, and Castiel gets through a third of the fast food sandwiches, Dean says, “So. Balthazar. He’s a good friend to do all this, huh? I mean, it can’t be easy, collecting this much food while also trying to run a war.”

Dean’s tone of voice is odd, and Castiel pauses to study him. “It would only take an angel a matter of moments to gather food. And most likely he had assistance.”

“Maybe,” Dean says, in that frustrating tone that means he’s not really listening to what Castiel has to say. “It’s just… someone put a lot of thought into what would actually boost your energy and help you recover fastest, and most angels don’t seem to know enough or care enough to do that. You must mean a lot to Balthazar, ‘cause from what I’ve seen of him, he doesn’t care that much about anything.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “He has been my friend for longer than humans have walked the Earth. Why are you suspicious of Balthazar’s motives?” Castiel asks curiously. Dean’s attitude toward Castiel’s friend is… odd. Likely, much of it comes from being protective of Danielle, but Castiel still finds Dean’s behavior puzzling. “I am a valuable asset. It is in his best interest to keep me alive. Therefore, he has provided food.” It’s sound tactics.

“If you say so. It’s just… the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, y’know?” Dean blurts out, then looks dismayed. Perhaps by the incorrectness of his statement, since it’s much quicker to pierce the heart by stabbing between the ribs; slicing through the stomach first would be more painful, and also slower. Castiel prefers a quick, clean kill.

Still… “I’m not a man,” Castiel reminds him haughtily.

Dean just rolls his eyes and passes a container of brown mush that looks unappealing but smells divine. “Have some mousse.” To Castiel’s eyes, it looks more like chocolate than part of an actual moose, and when he tastes it, he’s finds he’s right.

And, also, it may be the single greatest thing he’s ever tasted.

Castiel collects a dollop of the mousse on his finger, then offers it to Danielle. She gums his finger uncertainly, then her eyes widen and she begins to suck at it more fiercely. When he removes his finger from her mouth, she squeaks in protest and grabs it, trying to drag it back. Dean laughs.

“Guess she’s already developed a sweet tooth,” he grins.

Castiel tilts his head. “She does not yet have any teeth,” he points out. “And when they do develop, they will be enamel, like yours, and certainly not ‘sweet.’”

Dean opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. “Right,” he says finally.

Castiel gets through half the food before he experiences an unfamiliar sensation: he’s full. For the first time in his life, Castiel has eaten his fill. It’s a satisfying feeling, to no longer have hunger gnawing at his stomach, and his Grace looks a little brighter, a little less frayed, than it had a half hour before. It won’t be long before his hunger stirs again, but for now, he can relax and allow Danielle to take as much sustenance from him as she needs.

Eyes heavy, Castiel lays back on the couch. He pulls Danielle up to his chest, where she babbles and touches Castiel’s face. “She’s very happy,” Castiel observes. He doesn’t understand why; she has a confused mother who has no idea how to take care of her, and a whole world of beings who would hate and fear her, and kill her on sight if she left the protection of the house. And yet, as long as Castiel is there, she’s happy.

“And why shouldn’t she be a happy baby?” Dean coos. “Just ‘cause she’s a freaky little tentacle baby doesn’t mean she can’t be happy.”

Even though Dean has made similar statements about Danielle‘s awkward appearance - and Castiel himself has said similar things - this time, it cuts Castiel to the core.

“Freaky?” he repeats stiffly. Danielle picks up on Castiel’s agitation and starts piping nervously. 

“You know. Odd. Bizarre. She‘s my adorable little tentacle monster.” Dean scoops her into his arms. Castiel slowly sits up.

“I see. You still think her ugly. I understand,” Castiel says very quietly. “A human baby has two eyes and four limbs, ten fingers and ten toes. Danielle is nothing like a human baby.”

“What? Cas, I don’t think she’s ugly! She’s unusual, yeah, but it’s not like it’s her fault -” And finally Castiel understands. Now he knows why Dean’s carelessness is bothering him.

“Dean, you say it is not her fault, that she isn’t to blame, as if her appearance is a _mistake_ . That something is wrong, for her to look like this. You seem to have forgotten one very important fact - _she takes after me!_ ”

Before Dean can say anything to make the situation worse, Castiel spreads his wings with a snap, scoops Danielle into his arms, and with one mighty flap of his wings, transports himself away from Dean before he gives in to the impulse to smite him.

This time, when Castiel hides, he picks a place that will take Dean much longer to find, one he may not even think to check at all. He sits on the roof of Bobby’s house, in the shadow of the chimney and, coincidentally, the angel-proofing symbol that is wrong. Danielle sits in his lap, a little confused by the interruption to her nap, but exhilarated by the flight. She tries to spread her still-weak wings, but they just flop around her. Castiel runs his fingers along each downy limb soothingly.

He leans back against the slope of the roof and watches the birds wheeling around overhead. After a moment, Danielle settles against him and shuts most of her eyes. The rest are focuses skyward, and idly, Castiel wonders if her vision is sharp enough yet to pick out the birds amongst the clouds, or if she’s just mimicking him.

“Dean is not careful with words,” he says sadly.

But he’s always known that. In their first real exchange, Dean had told him that angels and God did not exist, despite the evidence standing before him. It hadn’t bothered him before. Once, nothing Dean said could bother him, except for his refusal to help Heaven. Now, though…

Danielle grows bored of bird-watching, and starts looking for something to gum. Since he hadn’t thought to bring a pacifier, Castiel reluctantly allows her to latch onto one of his well-chewed feathers.

He shouldn’t be this sensitive, he thinks. Castiel knows that humans are meant to find his form terrifying and awe-inspiring, and he’d had no particular feelings about Lovecraft being frightened of him - it was being the basis for some horrific _pagan god_ that mortified Castiel. But… it’s somehow important to him that Dean know his true form. When he’d let Dean glimpse it in the dreamscape, he’d thought Dean would finally understand that he was different, and accept him for what he was.

He wants Dean to know all of him, not just the vessel he wears.

And he’d thought… when Dean had seen his true form… that he’d been… _pleased_ . He’d thought he’d sensed awe and wonder, but Castiel has never been good at emotions. Maybe Dean had felt something else entirely. Maybe Dean finds his appearance as hideous as Danielle’s.

Maybe Castiel had been expecting too much of Dean. He’d already learned Dean could mistrust him, and betray him. Why wouldn’t he let Castiel down this way, as well?

And… why is Castiel so bothered by this, anyway?

Jody had mentioned post-pregnancy hormones and moodiness. Castiel wonders if angels actually are susceptible to such things. He certainly hasn’t felt like himself lately.

Danielle spits out his feather and tries to slither off his lap. Castiel tightens his grip on her, not liking the look of the broken shingles and scattered detritus that adorn the rooftop. She may be half angel, but her other half is human, and her skin is still new and soft and vulnerable to injuries, and his healing abilities are currently nonexistent. She whimpers in protest of his treatment and begins fussing in his lap.

She projects images at him, and expresses a desire for her octopus, a pacifier, a bath, Dean… He can sense that her crankiness comes from exhaustion, but she’s picking up on his emotions, and is too wired to nap.

Lesson learned: A bored baby is a fussy baby. Next time he flies off to hide and brings Danielle, he’ll have to remember to bring something to keep her occupied.

Fortunately, sleep finally wins her over, and she finally relaxes in Castiel’s lap, a limp bundle of sprawled tentacles and askew wings. He rests a hand on her back, between two closed, bulbous eyes. He closes his own, and waits.

After about an hour, he finally hears the clatter of the ladder against the eaves, and the swearing that gets steadily louder as Dean makes his way up to the roof. When Dean’s head appears, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, you are up here. I was starting to think you’d gone invisible or something and I missed you.”

“I don’t have the strength to maintain invisibility,” Castiel says tonelessly. “A short flight is the most I can manage right now.”

Danielle opens a few eyes and spares Dean a weary sort of warble before going back to her nap. Dean gives her an affectionate smile before turning towards Castiel, his face abruptly grave.

“I’m a dick,” Dean begins.

“ _Yes,_ ” Castiel says, with feeling.

“This is how it’s going to be between us from now on, isn’t it?” Dean sighs and leans back. “I’m going to say something that comes out wrong, and you’re going to run away, or get all angry and smiteful.”

“That is how things usually end up between us,” Castiel agrees. “You do tend to be unreasonable.”

“You’re not going to make it easy to apologize, are you?” Dean sounds exasperated.

“Is that what this is?” Castiel asks, tilting his head. “You may proceed.”

“I sort of… forget that you’re not human. I mean… I _know_ you’re not; you fly, you kill demons with your bare hands and mojo, and punching you is like punching a concrete wall - only the wall’s more yielding. But you look like a man, and humans tend to judge things based on appearances.”

“I tried to show you what I looked like,” Castiel says. “What I showed you in your dream was a shadow of what I truly am, but it would have been enough to prove beyond all doubt that I am not human.”

“Yeah, I know… but when I try to remember what I saw, it’s like my brain refuses to cooperate, and I find myself thinking I didn’t see what I thought I saw, that it was all just a dream.” He smiles crookedly. “Which it was, yeah, but… well, you know what I mean.”

Castiel doesn’t, but he lets it slide.

“Did you find my form… repulsive?” He doesn’t want to ask, but he needs to know. 

“No, man… Cas, you’re _beautiful_ !” From the way he flushes, Castiel knows he hadn’t meant to say that. But he means it. “I mean,” he adds hastily, “you’re pretty impressive. Much better looking than how Lovecraft described you. And one day, Dani will be, too. All babies start off looking a little odd, right?”

“If you say so,” Castiel says doubtfully. He doesn’t think her appearance will change very much; she’ll grow larger, certainly, and maybe one day her Grace will shine through, but she’ll always be a gelatinous mass of eyeballs and tentacles.

They sit in silence for a while, until Dean finally has to break it. Humans, Castiel has noted, aren’t comfortable with long silences while in another’s company.

“How can you even sit near that?” Dean asks, gesturing at the anti-angel sigil. While it is making the hairs on his vessel’s arm stand on end, it’s not uncomfortable.

Castiel shrugs. “It’s incorrect.”

Dean studies it, frowning. “Sam painted this one. I don’t see what’s wrong, though.”

Castiel points to a zig-zagging line coming off one side of the circle. “This should be reversed,” he says, absently tracing the correct shape against the brick. “It was the only error,” he adds consolingly.

“Why are you telling me this? Shouldn’t you not want us to know how to repel angels? We did it to keep _you_ out.”

Castiel’s hand drops to his side. “There are some angels that need to be repelled. I would not want you harmed or killed because I withheld that information for selfish reasons.”

“Anyway, we should probably head inside. Jody could arrive at any time, and if she comes while we’re arguing… well, I’m sure she’ll yell at me, and she’s probably good at it.” He flashes a wide grin.

Castiel has to support himself against the chimney to climb to his feet. Danielle chirps irritably at having her nap interrupted again. Her eyes slowly open one bye one. As he walks to the roof’s edge, however, she seems to realize what’s about to happen, and her tentacles curl around his arm in anticipation.

Castiel spreads his wings and steps off the roof, descending in a slow glide. He holds out Danielle in front of him, and she makes a delighted sound all the way down. He hears Dean climbing down the ladder behind him. “That looks weird when I can’t see your wings,” Dean says.

He touches down and tightly furls his wings. Dean steps to the ground a moment later, and they head back inside. Danielle is a limp bundle in his arms, already almost asleep again. Castiel is desperate to join her - mood swings are tiring.

Before heading off to the couch, Castiel refreshes his water bottle again. Dean studies him thoughtfully, sipping from a newly-opened beer.

“So,” Dean muses, idly running his fingers along the bottleneck. “An octopus, an elk, and a raven. Combination shouldn’t work, but I gotta admit, you looked pretty badass.” He takes a sip from the bottle.

Remembering a conversation from the previous day, Castiel asks curiously, “Did you approve of my rack?”

Dean chokes on his beer.

 

~tbc~

 

Yeah. I had no reason to put Castiel in Sam’s hoodie other than the visual amused me.


	9. Let It Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a bit of a time jump in this one; time needs to actually advance, otherwise, this story would be a hundred chapters of everyone being cute and maybe two chapters of actual plot. I certainly wasn’t expecting it to hit one hundred pages!

Jody arrives an hour later, cutting Castiel‘s nap short. She’s carrying a couple of Wal-Mart bags and a box of books, which Dean immediately takes from her and carries inside. The bags have the promised formula, along with a few more toys she’d thought Danielle would like, including a rattle, a teething ring (which she might not need yet, but it gives her something else to suck on), some very soft colorful plastic blocks, and a couple more plush toys: a bunny that played music, and the angel bear that Dean had previously rejected. Danielle loves it all (though Dean suspects the rattle is going to drive him _nuts_.) The books are predominantly the promised Dr. Seuss, though there are other childhood classics mixed in. There are even a few DVDs, though Jody entreats him not to watch _Finding Nemo_ in her presence; it had been her son’s favorite, and she doesn’t think she can handle it.

Castiel continues to be baffled that a baby needs so much, despite Jody’s assurance that it’s all part of her mental stimulation, and it‘s not going to hurt her to be a little spoiled.

Jody submits to the tests, though this time, Dean just presses the blade of the silver knife to her flesh rather than cutting her. After all, any monster vulnerable to silver would have been hurt just by the contact.

While Jody continues her talk with Cas, Dean goes back to work making Bobby’s house safe for a baby. The dust bunny infestations aren’t the only thing Danielle could encounter; while Bobby doesn’t usually leave weapons or dangerous herbs laying about, there’s enough junk lying around that could cause problems for the already mobile Nephil.

The thought of those curious, probing tentacles finding Bobby’s knives or poisonous herbs _terrifies_ him.

Today, he’s decided to tackle the kitchen.

It’s a decision comes to regret ten minutes after making it, when he’s pulled out the fridge and found the thriving colony of cockroaches (which he’s pretty damn sure have fed on Bobby’s spell components and leftover chili and have mutated as a result. His years as a hunter have not prepared him for this.)

He plays some Zeppelin as he works, keeping the music low so it doesn’t interfere with Jody and Castiel’s talk, but loud enough that he can give them the illusion of privacy. As he sweeps away the dead things that have accumulated and mummified behind the refrigerator over the years _(Holy shit, is that a freaking_ cat? _No, it’s a_ rat! _A freaking Sasquatch zombie rat! Gonna have to salt and burn that bitch later…_ ) and clears out the cobwebs _(Are tarantulas native to South Dakota? ‘Cause there’s no way this all came from that dinky little spider_!) he find’s he’s almost… relaxed. There’s something strangely cathartic about doing hard labor and making the house safe for his daughter. It’s like hunting, in a way, but without the blood (except where he’d cut himself on a piece of glass; fuck, this isn’t a good time for Cas and his magical anti-bacterial powers to be out of commission, and he’ll never live it down if he dies from an infection incurred while cleaning) or the monsters (though he’s pretty damned sure those dust bunnies have _eyes_ and they’re watching him hungrily.)

Finally, the area behind the fridge is… well, not spotless, or even clean enough to eat off of, but it doesn’t look like the lair of a master race of mutant cockroaches anymore, either. So he shoves the fridge back against the wall and pulls out stove, and discovers that what’s evolving behind there is even more terrifying than what he’d found behind the fridge. So Dean decides that, screw it, he’s going to check in on Castiel and Jody.

Dean peeks in on them, and has to snort back a laugh at what he finds. They’re both seated on the couch, and Castiel has his back to Jody. His eyes are closed and his back is arched towards her. It takes Dean a moment to realize that she’s giving him a backrub, and he‘s leaning into it with all the enthusiasm of a cat. Also, Danielle is on Jody’s lap, a display of trust by Castiel that surprises Dean. “So you’re letting her hold Dani now?” Dean asks.

The angel doesn’t even open his eyes as he says in a slightly slurred voice, “I like her, Dean.”

“So I see,” Dean smirks.

“He’s really tense and sore,” Jody explains. “Especially around his… wings,” she adds, sounding amazed. 

“I usually tuck my wings in another plane of existence,” Castiel says muzzily. “But I have been keeping them out for protection; my wings are both weapon and shield, as well as being a source of comfort for the Nephil. I have felt the need to keep them out for her safety, and it is putting stress on my vessel.”

Jody pats his shoulder. “For someone who has no idea what he’s doing, you have good instincts,” she says.

Castiel opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder at her. “Thank you,” he says, sounding touched.

Dean leaves them alone and goes back to his cleaning, and tries very hard not to be jealous of the pleased noises Jody’s fingers are getting out of Castiel. 

He takes out his frustrations on the vermin graveyard, which he thinks should all just be salted and burned, but he imagines Bobby wouldn’t be too thrilled to come back to find his house had been burned down. Maybe an exorcism…?

“I don’t think this kitchen’s ever been this clean,” Jody’s amused voice is a welcome distraction, and Dean shuffles out from behind the stove.

“Me neither. You don’t wanna see some of the things I found back here. I’m pretty sure the vermin were all interbreeding to create some sort of supervermin.” Dean is debating the merits of grabbing his gun, ‘cause there’s something behind the stove that’s _moving_ , and it’s smarter than your average mold/rat/cockroach hybrid. “How’s Cas doin’?”

“My magic fingers put him to sleep,” she says smugly, wiggling her fingers at him. “I’ve still got it.”

“That, and you interrupted his nap when you came over.” Dean glances in the direction of the sleeping angel.

“And he didn’t smite me for it. That’s gotta be a good sign.” She stands there for a long moment, silent, and Dean girds himself for whatever it is she really wants to talk to him about. “Castiel told me that you had an argument,” she says carefully.

Dean rubs the back of his grubby neck and sighs. “It wasn’t supposed to be one. I was just being me and he took offense. He’s never reacted like that before.”

Jody nods. “He mentioned that his emotions seem to be amplified lately, and he‘s really confused by them. If he weren’t an energy being, I’d think he was hormonal. Reminds me a bit of my body image issues after my son was born, actually.”

“Who knows, with Cas? Having emotions is new to him; could just be that he’s experiencing new ones and it’s freaking him out.” Dean purses his lips in thought. “He’s never had any reaction to comments about his appearance before.” At least, not until Dean had started calling him an elktopus or teased him about being Cthulhu.

It suddenly occurs to Dean that, before Danielle came into their lives, he’d had no idea what Castiel looked like, and no way of ever knowing without his eyes melting. Now, Dean has some frame of reference, and his barbs about Castiel’s appearance hit home.

Fuck. He really is a douche bag, isn’t he?

“It’s probably too much to ask that you be just a little more careful?” Jody asks wryly. “I know it’s hard for you not to be so… _you,_ ” Jody says jabbing his shoulder, and Dean wonders if he should take offense, “and it’s hard to know what could spark one of his mood swings, but maybe you could hold off on the comments about Danielle’s appearance, at least? Or his, for that matter?”

Dean had already come to that decision; after all, he hates hearing others talk about Dani that way, so why does he keep doing it? 

Dean sighs. Because that’s just how he communicates. Because the more he loves someone, the more he hurts them, it seems. Sam gives as good as he gets, and Cas (usually) doesn’t even seem to notice when he’s being insulted - or if he does, he’s just so supremely confident about his angel of the Lord badassery that puny human insults mean nothing to him.

There’s no reason whatsoever he should be making comments about Danielle. Especially since Dean does think she’s adorable, in her own unique way.

“Yeah,” Dean says finally. “Yeah… I can do that. I hope I can.” Because he can’t guarantee something will slip out, or that he won’t drink too much and forget to guard his tongue.

Jody _hmphs_ and head back into the living room.

Dean finishes cleaning behind the stove and pushes it back in place, then, after thoroughly washing and sanitizing his hands (because he can’t help but think about Castiel’s admission that he’s been healing their infections all along and that he no longer can) and goes to check on Jody and Cas, who’s awake by now.

Jody is sitting on the couch with Danielle again in her lap and a copy of _Cat in the Hat_ open on her knees where the Nephil can see it. Castiel is beside her, brow furrowed as he leans over and studies the illustrations on the page. When he spots Dean, he says, “I don’t understand this book.” Jody’s obviously trying not to laugh.

Dean remembers reading Dr. Seuss books to Sam when he was little, and he’s thrilled at the thought of reading them to the next generation of Winchester. Sam had had a lot of questions, too (such as what kind of cat would let anyone put a hat on it; when he’d tried that with a neighbor’s cat, it had scratched him.) This would be just like reading to his little brother.

“You might not have noticed, but Cas has no sense of personal space. At all.”

Castiel looks sheepish and shuffles back an inch. “I am sorry; I didn’t realize I was that close.”

“It’s okay, Castiel. It’s been awhile since I had a handsome man hanging on to my every word,” Jody grins.

“I do not understand why these children would let this cat into their home,” Castiel continues. “It is obviously a Trickster, rather than a true feline, and it has already caused a great deal of mischief. Why has their baby-sitter not summoned a hunter to deal with this threat?”

“Perhaps she’s off with the pizza man,” Dean suggests.

Castiel looks scandalized.

Dean raises his eyebrow at Jody. “Has he been like this for the whole book?”

Jody snorts. “You should have heard his objections to _Yertle the Turtle_.”

“Turtles do not stack themselves in such a way,” Castiel huffs. “The closest a turtle comes to such a position is when they copulate. So many turtles stacked atop one another suggest an orgy, and that is not appropriate for a child.”

Okay. This is _nothing_ like reading Dr. Seuss to Sam. He can’t stop himself; he bursts out laughing, and Jody joins in. Danielle joins in with excited chirps. Castiel just looks confused. “Don’t ever change, Cas,” Dean says, when his laughter finally subsides.

At that moment, a phone rings. Dean, not recognizing the ring tone, immediately turns to Jody. “That yours?” he asks, when she makes no move to answer.

But it’s Castiel who fishes a phone out of his pocket (earning a raised eyebrow from Jody) and he heads to the next room (still in Danielle‘s line of sight), speaking in a low voice in what is probably Enochian. After a terse exchange, Castiel closes his phone and turns to Dean.

“That was Balthazar,” Castiel says slowly. “He needs to speak with me. Immediately.”

~oOo~

Balthazar is waiting for them in the spot where they’d trapped him the previous day. Four hampers are pushed off to the side, the promised 6 o’clock dinner. Behind him stand Hester and Inias in what looks almost like a military at ease stance. Hester pointedly ignores Dean, while Inias comes as close to the wards as he dares, trying to get a look at Danielle. Dean steps between them, remembering that unlike Balthazar and Hester, Inias never had to temper his Nephil-killing impulses.

“She is… not how I pictured a Nephil,” Inias says. “She’s incredible!” He sounds amazed rather than disgusted, and Dean decides he kinda likes Inias. He’s not bad. For an angel.

Doesn’t mean Dean trusts him any further than he could throw him.

Hester glances at Danielle, scrunches her nose, then resumes her watchful air. She’s wary, but is more intent on protecting Balthazar than Nephil-smiting. That’s a good sign.

Still, he tightens his grip on the angel blade he holds, and paces the space between Castiel and the edge of the wards. “Why are you here, Balthazar?” Dean demands, when the angel isn’t forthcoming. “You didn’t drag us out here to show off Danielle.”

The angel opens his mouth, meets Dean’s angry gaze and Castiel’s suspicious one, and swallows back whatever pithy retort he’d been about to make, and instead says quietly, “I’ve been spreading word around that you bore a Nephil.”

Castiel’s arms immediately tighten around Danielle, eyes going very wide. Danielle, in response to Castiel’s surge of emotions, begins creeling in distress.

“You son of a bitch! You just painted a target on Cas‘ back!” Dean snarls, and it takes an effort of will not to throw the angel blade into Balthazar‘s heart. “We trusted you!”

“Castiel, tell your gorilla to calm down before he ruptures something,” Balthazar sighs.

“I would like to hear why you thought our people needed to know I’ve been ruined,” Castiel says stiffly. “I had thought you shared my feeling that it would destroy morale.”

“It was going to come out sooner or later,” Balthazar defends. “I decided that if it happened sooner, it would be under our terms.”

Dean seethes. Waiting for the big reveal would have given Castiel more time to recover his strength and his mojo, as well as giving them time to derail the whole Purgatory plan. Now, they’ll have to contend with angelic exterminators as well as demons. “Fuck! Couldn’t you have held off for a couple more days? And maybe given us a warning?” Castiel is scanning the skies, as though he expects to be attacked immediately. Though he can’t see them, he suspects the angel’s wings are spread and ready for flight at the first sign of danger.

“No. If we waited too long, Raphael would spread his version of the story - and I guarantee, any lies he’d tell would be far more persuasive, more demoralizing, and would fail to include his own involvement. Now… now the entire Host knows the truth.”

Castiel shakes his head and says wearily, “Raphael’s lies would be far more convincing. They wouldn’t believe our version of the truth.”

“They would when it comes from Amatiel.”

The name obviously means something to Castiel, because he stiffens. “Amatiel has taken a neutral stance in the war. How did you convince her to speak on our behalf?”

Balthazar preens. “I can be _very_ persuasive.” At Castiel’s stern look, he sighs. “I cornered her and forced her to listen. Once she realized what Raphael had done, she realized she couldn’t remain neutral any longer. Her words have been heard throughout Heaven, by all sides.”

“So… this Amatiel chick… why would they believe her and not Cas?”

“Amatiel is the Angel of Truth,” Castiel explains. “She speaks only the truth, and she can detect lies, even second-hand ones. She would know I spoke the truth to Balthazar, and all who hear her will know of Raphael’s role and _believe_.”

“And… this is a good thing how? Cas said being the victim here doesn’t matter, according to your fucked up laws.”

“Because our ‘fucked up’ laws aren’t just against the _birth_ of a Nephil, but the _creation_ of one.” Balthazar grins savagely. 

“Oh…” Castiel breathes.

Dean gets it. Raphael may not have been Danielle’s parent, but she owed her existence entirely to the archangel. By creating a Nephil, he’d doomed himself in the process. “And Raphael didn’t think this would come back to bite him in the ass?” Raphael might be a dick, but Dean had thought he was smarter than this!

“Raphael was counting on Castiel giving birth in Heaven, where he would have been torn apart before the baby had the chance to draw its first breath. No one would ever have known the truth.” 

“Seems to be a Hell of a risk, doesn’t it? ‘Specially when dealing with Cas, who don’t exactly play by the rules. It‘s what makes him better than the rest of you feather-dusters.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says uncertainly.

“I mean,” Dean continues, “Cas has proven he thinks for himself. Why would Raphael expect him to act like any other angel?”

“Because Raphael is incapable of understanding Castiel. Because any other angel, afraid and in pain like Cassy was, would have immediately gone to one of our healers for help. Going it alone is unthinkable.”

Castiel shuffles uncomfortably, one hand pressed to his abdomen in memory. “I never even considered an angelic healer; I knew only that I had to get far away from Raphael and Heaven.”

“So what does this mean, besides the fact that now all of Heaven is aware of Danielle’s existence and is probably going to come after her and Cas?” Dean growls.

“What it means is that Raphael’s army is _deserting_ him.”

Castiel stares. “How many has he lost?”

“A third of his army has abandoned him, with more angels going AWOL every day. The most crippling loss, though, is Gadriel and his garrison.” Before Dean can ask, Balthazar adds, “Gadriel is an Angel of War. For him to walk away from battle is unheard of.”

“And how many has our side lost?”

Balthazar‘s glee fades. “Less than half, which is better than I was expecting. At least they’re not joining Raphael’s army. More and more angels are taking a neutral stance in the war.”

Castiel is silent for a long moment. “They would have been lost to us no matter who broke the news,” he says finally. “At least a crippling blow was struck against Raphael’s army, as well. You made a wise decision, Balthazar.”

Dean reluctantly agrees; though he’s not going to be able to sleep tonight until he paints a few strategically placed angel banishing sigils and Cas strengthens the wards again.

Dean doesn’t retrieve the food hampers until Balthazar and co. leave, but he still feels like he’s being watched as they head back to the house.

~oOo~

The rest of the night pasts uneventfully, the only bit of excitement being when Sam calls to let Dean know they’d arrived in Providence and their investigation would begin bright and early the next day. The update is followed by a lengthy conversation between Sam and Dani, which seems to consist primarily of happy squeals and raspberries. Sam’s finally met his mental match.

The next day is little different; Dean retrieves the breakfast hampers and is allowed to take whatever he wants (choosing this time the single most gorgeously decadent and overstuffed omelet he‘s ever seen), and then he goes back to cleaning while Castiel alternates between napping and watching TV. Somehow, all the laundry in the house is clean, the books are in… well, not in order, or even particularly organized, but they’re either shelved or in neat(ish) stacks.

If Dean ever quits hunting, he could have a brilliant career as a maid.

Around noon, as Castiel is finishing off what’s left of the food, Bobby calls with an update. Castiel stops eating and looks up with obvious interest. Dean tries not to look like he’s attempting to muffle the conversation so Cas can’t hear. He suspects that may be a lost cause, anyway; he’s noticing that the angel has uncanny hearing.

“How’s the research going?” Dean asks in a low voice.

“Not good… Lovecraft’s letters are gone. Stolen.”

“That can’t be a coincidence,” Dean groans.

“Nope. Turns out I wasn’t the only one interested in the letters. Said some British collector with a superiority complex and a taste for expensive scotch came to look at them two days ago, and offered to buy them. Sound like anyone we know?”

“Crowley,” Dean says flatly. Castiel’s head shoots upward, and his eyes meet Dean’s. “He knows how to crack Purgatory.”

“Not yet… our self-proclaimed expert here says there weren’t any descriptions of rituals in Lovecraft’s letters - said he was very careful not to say anything at all about the events of March 10, as a matter of fact, probably to keep others from repeating his mistake. Guess he had some sense, after all.”

“So this was a dead end?” Dean asks, with a quick look at Castiel. The angel’s expression is unreadable. 

“Maybe not. I’ve got another lead I’m followin’, and maybe Sam’s found somethin’ in the university collection, though if Lovecraft’s been careful, then I doubt it.”

Dean hangs up, then turns to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Guess you heard that, huh? You could’ve warned us that we were racing against Crowley.”

“I didn’t tell him anything about Lovecraft or the journal,” Castiel says. “I hadn’t even had the chance to read the journal to determine if there was anything useful, much less pass the knowledge along to Crowley.”

“So how did he make the connection to Lovecraft? He didn’t bug us again, did he?” Fuck. That would be a disaster.

“No, I sensed no demonic devices either in the house or any of the cars.” Castiel ducks his head guiltily. “The journal. I… lost track of it when Danielle emerged. I may have left it in the wreckage of that restaurant. A demon could easily have retrieved it.”

As much as Dean wants to yell at him for letting something valuable fall into Crowley’s hands, he can’t exactly blame Castiel; after all, he’d sort of been busy giving birth.

Still… Crowley may now have a potent weapon at his command, and Castiel won’t be there to keep Crowley from using the souls of Purgatory to start another Apocalypse.

~oOo~

The next couple of days pass peacefully. The expected attacks by angels or demons don’t come, Purgatory isn’t opened, and the Apocalypse doesn’t resume. Dean knows this is only the calm before the storm, but he’s going to enjoy it while he can.

He just… never expected the enjoyment to come from having a clean house for his baby. He’d even _shampooed the carpets_ , thanks to Jody loaning him a rug shampooer. Though it’s not all housework he’s doing; there are always vehicles that need to be worked on, cars and trucks that were junked but are still in decent shape. Bobby restores them and sells them, and Dean doesn’t mind giving Bobby a hand. Castiel joins him whenever he’s working outside, spreading out a blanket for him and Danielle to share so they can sit and watch.

Dean’s actually enjoying the (almost) normal family life. It’s the first opportunity he’s had to really play house like this. His time with Lisa barely counts; his entire time with her, he’d been mourning his brother, and hadn’t given her and Ben the attention they deserved. He regrets that now… he’d never really given them a chance. He likes domesticity, probably because it’s so different from the life he’d grown up in.

Although, he could do without the eternal battle against the dust bunnies. He swears the things spawn faster than real bunnies and have some sort of malevolent intelligence.

More startling than his own domesticity is the change in Castiel.

Castiel seems… content. It’s the first time Dean’s ever seen the angel when there’s no hidden agenda, no immediate life-or-death crisis. No fear that Dean’s going to toss him and their child to the wolves. Though the threat of Raphael and the Apocalypse still exists, it’s no longer Castiel’s problem. Balthazar has been keeping up a steady supply of food, so Cas no longer looks like a walking skeleton, and Jody has been coming over daily to give advice and provide moral support, and as a result, Castiel is more confident in his handling of Danielle. He still doesn’t talk to her like he should, and his attitude toward her is more detached than Dean would like, but Dean’s still confident that Castiel will come to love her as a parent should.

And Dean finally feels like he has his friend back.

Cas had never been the kind of friend he could take to a bar, drag to some sporting event, or hunt for women with, but they’d shared a quiet camaraderie that comes from being brothers in arms in the end of the world. They’d relied on each other, fought for each other, and would even die for each other (which Cas had, _twice_.) And Castiel was a good listener, even if he was crap at giving advice. Dean could unload on the angel, get everything off his chest, and know that Cas wouldn’t judge him, or repeat what he said to anyone else.

It was good for Dean to have someone who would just _be there_ for him, someone who wasn’t Sam, since Sam was often the thing Dean most needed to talk about. 

He hadn’t realized just how much he missed that.

This time, though, it’s Castiel who unloads on Dean, telling him about the war and the toll it’s taking on Heaven, and how it’s threatening to spill over and affect the souls residing there. He tells Dean about the angels he’d known who’d died, and the battlegrounds forever ruined by their warring.

Dean listens. And he almost understands Castiel’s need to go nuclear to end the war once and for all, before Heaven is utterly destroyed.

They’d even talked about Castiel’s raising of Sam from Hell. Castiel had sounded genuinely remorseful over bring Sam back soulless; he’d simply wanted to rescue his friend, and hadn’t noticed Sam’s soulless condition until much later. He’d known there was no way he could enter the Cage a second time; he’d barely escaped when he’d had the element of surprise on his side. When Dean had demanded to know why Cas hadn’t just told them the truth, he’d said that Crowley had convinced him it would be better not to, that by keeping the means of Sam’s resurrection mysterious, it would be easier to convince the Winchesters to cooperate in finding alphas.

After that conversation, Dean has to go and clean out the bathrooms, because killing germs and mold is better than screaming at an angel cradling a sleepy newborn. The tile _shines_ by the time he’s done, from the force of his scrubbing.

Despite these hitches, they’re working out their issues. With a little work, their relationship may be closer than it ever has been before - which is essential, if they’re going to raise Danielle together. Dean’s glad to have Castiel as family again, as a _friend_ again.

Even if Castiel does prefer _My Little Pony_ to Chuck Norris.

It feels almost normal now, waking up next to Cas and Danielle. Dean’s never really been a cuddler, but there’s something reassuring about falling asleep next to the two of them every night, and knowing they’ll still be there when Dean wakes up. He’s still a bit uncomfortable with the fact that Castiel clings to him like a tenacious octopus at night, but it’s better than sharing a bed with Sam, who kicks and hogs the covers.

And giving Castiel back rubs is helping him work through any remaining hang-ups he has about touching the outwardly male angel. Cas clearly enjoys them, and it turns out to be an effective method of heading off any arguments or emotional outbursts. If Dean had known rubbing the base of an angel’s wings put them in such a blissed-out, semi-catatonic state, he might have given Zachariah a back rub or two.

Well, no, probably not.

The only low point of their time off comes when Jody brings a playpen over for Danielle. Castiel is oddly reluctant to put her inside, even though it’s well-padded with blankets and holds all her toys.

For someone who is merely ‘attached’ to his child, Castiel gets severe separation anxiety. As soon as he places her at the bottom of the pen and backs away, he begins shaking. And as soon as she’s out of sight, he panics. 

Danielle isn’t any better. At first she’d settled into the nest of blankets and pulled all her toys close and began to babble at them. But as Castiel stepped further away, she’d fallen silent, and then a tremulous “Peep?” had sounded. When no one had immediately appeared, she’d started peeping frantically until Castiel was in sight again. They’d talked it over with Jody, and she’d recommended they start it slow. Dean grudgingly agreed; after all, Cas can’t hold Danielle forever, and it would probably do him some good to have ‘alone time.’

But when Dean finds Castiel sitting as close to the playpen he can without actually being inside, and Danielle pressed against him, her tentacles poking through the loose weave to wrap around his arm, Dean decides that, Hell with it, they’re not ready for even this degree of separation.

Domestic bliss lasts for three days, until, finally, Dean hears the sound of Bobby’s Chevelle pulling up the drive.

The three of them went outside to greet the returning hunters, Dean holding a bottle of holy water and a silver knife, Castiel holding a blanket-wrapped, sleeping Danielle in one hand and keeping a white-knuckled grip on his blade with the other. 

They manage to get through the tests before Danielle abruptly wakes up and gives a shrill cry, thrashing around until her blanket falls away. Danielle launches herself at Sam, splatting against his face and wrapping her tentacles around his head. He gives a muffled yelp and staggers backward, arms flailing. All the while, Danielle coos happily into his neck. Sam gasps something that could be “Dani, I can’t breathe!” or may have just been baby-talk. Dean decides not to take that risk, especially since Sam’s visible skin is starting to turn blue.

“C’mon, Dani, you can play alien face-hugger with him later. Right now, Sammy needs to breathe.” Danielle allows herself to be pulled from Sam’s face, but she slips from Dean’s fingers so she can plop into Sam’s arms.

Sam blinks goo out of his eyes, and smiles down at the happily trilling Danielle. “I’m glad to see you, too,” he says. “How’s my favorite girl?” he asks in a high, syrupy voice that makes Dean want to check if he’d grown boobs during the hunt.

Bobby snorts and heads towards the house. “When you ladies are done here, we can talk about everything we discovered.” He gives Danielle a surprisingly soft smile before stalking off towards the house.

“Watch out,” Sam says, his tone not altering from its high-pitched baby-talk level, “he’s in a mood.”

“When isn’t he?” Dean asks dryly. “What happened now?” They’d been light on details during their calls on the return trip.

“Turns out an old girlfriend of his is a 900-year-old Purgatory monster,” Sam says. His mouth makes a funny twist, like he’s not sure if he should be horrified or amused.

Dean tries to decide if he wants to know. On the one hand, he really doesn’t want to contemplate Bobby’s sex life. On the other hand? If he doesn’t know the truth, his dirty imagination will fill in the details, and he’s pretty sure the mental image of Bobby naked with some tentacle monster is _scarring_. Dean’s about to demand to know the whole story when they’re interrupted by a yell.

Bobby’s voice is audible all the way outside. “What the Hell happened to my house?”

 

~tbc~

 

Apologies to anyone who would have liked to have seen Dean and Cas actually talk things out; reconciliations over the events of season six have been done to death in other fan fics, and I don’t have anything new to contribute. I’d just be rehashing what other people have written, and probably not as well.

I should probably mention that much of my angelic lore comes from A Dictionary of Angels by Gustav Davidson. I knew it and I were going to get along just fine when I first opened it to a random page and that page happened to have the entry for Castiel.

Oh, and I’m going out of town for awhile, hopefully to find an out of state job and escape the miserable area in which I live. I have no idea if I’ll have time to write, or when the next chapter will go up.


	10. Holding Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone settles into an uncomfortable holding pattern, which, in typical Winchester fashion, ends with a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Real Life had been rather unbearable, and I’ve been too miserable to write. Details at my LiveJournal, if anyone is interested. Also, because I apparently needed more challenges in my life, part of this refused to be written, so I spent time working on the final chapters instead. I’m still not satisfied with it, but if I keep tweaking it, it would be years before I completed it.

As Sam lays sprawled on the floor, part of a triangle arranged around Danielle’s play area atop a green blanket, he reflects upon how different everything has become in the short time he’s been gone.

It’s not just the freakishly clean house (which isn’t _spotless_ , but it probably hasn’t been this clean since Bobby’s wife was alive and he cared about home maintenance) that has changed, or Danielle, who has become much more vigorous and talkative since he’d seen her last. No, the real difference is in the relationship between Dean and Castiel.

Dean is sitting, cross-legged, watching his daughter’s antics. Castiel is laying on his side, head pillowed on his arms, entirely focused on Danielle. One forearm is pressed against Dean’s thigh, and Dean hasn’t done anything to discourage the touch. Quite the opposite; he’d shifted into the touch without any prompting from Cas.

Sam surreptitiously studies Castiel, noting how his stubble and the perpetual bags under his eyes seem darker than normal against too-pale skin. The gray AC/DC shirt that he’d obviously gotten from Dean doesn’t hide the bony arms, or the concave stomach. The sweatpants look like they’re barely clinging to his waist and are ready to shimmy down his thighs at the first opportunity.

Despite the massive quantities of food that Balthazar has provided, Castiel obviously isn’t recovering like he should. 

But there are some positive changes, such as Castiel’s handling of Danielle. He’s more confident now, and seems fond of his daughter. He’d even smiled when Sam had remarked on how smart she was. Even now, he’s watching her with interest and curiosity, and is even assisting her play.

Danielle has a new game: she clambers awkwardly onto Sam’s back, then rolls off into the pile of stuffed toys. From the sounds she makes, this is the greatest thing ever. Sam had initially worried, but then he’d noticed that when Danielle misses the toys, she lands on what looks like a cushion of air a couple of inches above the blanket. Cas is catching her, somehow, probably with a wing or some equally invisible body part. Sam’s tempted to reach out and feel whatever it is, but then decides that groping invisible limbs might prove awkward - God only knows just what he‘d be putting his hands on.

So instead he focuses on Danielle, who has just decided to take a break from her play to yank a strand of Sam’s hair into her beaky mouth. Dean guffaws, and even Castiel seems to find this amusing. Or perhaps he’s just relieved to have Dani chew on something besides his feathers.

“Um… little help, here?” Sam pleads, when he’s unable to reach around and pull his hair from the Nephil’s grabby tentacles. When Dean just smirks, and Castiel yawns, Sam takes matters into his own hands by tempting her with the teething ring. She immediately abandons his hair in favor of sucking on the squishy ring, mumbling contentedly. Her tentacles drape down over Sam’s ribcage and he strokes one, marveling at the velvety smoothness of the mottled red and black flesh, and the stretchiness of the tissue (she’s going to have a long reach; keeping things out of range is going to be a challenge.) In response, she curls the tip around his fingers.

She’s incredible. Having someone greet him so joyously, with such unconditional love, feels fantastic. Yes, he has Dean, but their ways of showing affection for each other had matured. Mostly.

He wonders if this is how Dean felt when they were little and Sam hadn‘t even started school yet, when Sam had squealed and thrown himself into Dean’s arms every time Dean came home. No wonder Dean had tolerated his baby brother’s clinging hugs and sloppy kisses; it feels good to come home to someone who loves you.

From the way Dean beams at them, he knows his brother is pleased by their connection. Cas just watches, but he no longer looks wary of others handling his child. Mostly, he just looks tired.

Bobby is puttering away in the kitchen; from the sound of his grumbling and the occasional rattle and bang, he’s trying to set it back to the way it was before Dean had become possessed by Martha Stewart. Probably trying to take his mind off the fact that Dr. Visyak was a Purgatory denizen - and that she’d refused his help in hiding from Crowley. He’d sat with them for awhile, sharing his findings with Dean and, (somewhat reluctantly,) Cas. Danielle had sat in his lap and burbled happily, and Bobby had shaken her stuffed octopus around to make its eyes wiggle, much to her obvious delight.

He’d seemed very reluctant to set her on the blanket and head off to fix something to eat.

With their last lead to open Purgatory vanished, they’re left with nothing to do but wait until Dr. Visyak changes her mind or worse, Crowley makes his move. Sam’s feeling a little adrift without having something to research or hunt. Odd; he’d always thought Dean would be the one who couldn’t live without hunting, yet here he’d spent a week taking care of his newborn and cleaning house, and he seemed happier than Sam had ever seen him.

Sam had always known his brother has a well-hidden desire for normalcy, but he hadn’t realized that Dean _thrives_ on it.

And then Castiel does something that makes the scene even more shockingly domestic. The angel pushes himself up on his hands, drags himself forward, and flops onto Dean’s lap with a huff of breath. And Dean automatically responds by rubbing the spot between Castiel’s shoulders, eliciting a contented sigh from the angel.

Despite the desire to gape as his brother, Sam averts his gaze. Some new rapport had developed between the two while he was away, and if Sam makes a big deal of it, Dean might become self-conscious and ‘man up’, withdrawing his attention from Castiel. Cas really doesn’t need that right now, not when he obviously craves the touch.

Danielle slithers down Sam’s shoulders and across the blanket, into Castiel’s waiting arms. Her eyes all blink slowly, disconcertingly out of sync, then all close at once.

This seems to be a signal that Castiel no longer needs to fight his own weariness, because once Danielle’s breaths even out, Castiel’s own drooping eyelids close, and it’s not long before he’s a relaxed, boneless heap in Dean’s lap. Dean rolls his eyes, but makes no attempt to push Castiel off.

“He’s still sleeping with you, huh?” 

Dean eyes Sam for a moment, obviously trying to figure out if Sam’s teasing him. He’s not; under other circumstances, it would be hilarious that Dean’s an angel’s security blanket. But there’s nothing humorous about Castiel’s sheer - and justified - terror of being alone when he‘s in such a vulnerable state. “Yeah,” Dean says, gaze dropping to Castiel’s slack face. “He’s okay when he naps, so long as I don’t leave the house, but at night he’s always right there, clinging to me with way more limbs than he should have.”

Sam fights back the urge to make a snarky comment about real life not living up to the Japanese tentacle porn he _knows_ Dean watches.

“How is he?” Sam studies Castiel’s wan, thin face, still showing strain even in sleep.

Dean’s lips tighten. “Not as well as he pretends to be. The wound on his belly still hasn’t healed, and he looks like he’s losing weight again. He seemed to be doing okay once Balthazar started bringing food, but the more active Danielle gets, the more she feeds from his Grace, and I don’t think he can keep up with her needs. He needs… he needs a full recharge, and he can only get that in Heaven,” Dean concludes dully.

And the moment he sets foot in Heaven, he’ll be killed, Dean doesn’t need to add.

It’s a real dick move, Sam thinks, to design a reproductive cycle that painfully incapacitates the nurturing parent and makes them utterly dependent upon their family. It could be meant as a way to discourage unplanned pregnancy, but still, Sam can’t see any advantage to this. If something were to fight through the guardians to the nursery or nesting grounds or whatever angels use, the angels and infants would be completely helpless.

And then, beneath Dean’s hands, Castiel shudders. It begins as a series of spinal twitches that become more frequent and spread throughout his body. Dean pulls back, then grips Castiel’s shoulders and tries to hold him steady.

A particularly violent, full-body jerk nearly dislodges Castiel from Dean’s lap. Danielle doesn’t wake, but she does snuggle closer and tighten her grip around Cas’s arms. And then he abruptly sags, limbs loose and sprawling, features smoothing out. Only a slight furrow to his brow shows he’s not wholly relaxed.

Dean stares down at Castiel’s still form, rubbing soothing circles into the angel’s back until even the furrow is gone. “He’s never done that before,” he says, lips drawn into a frown when Castiel doesn‘t repeat the convulsions.

“Bad dream?” Sam suggests hopefully.

“He doesn’t dream.”

“Has he said -” Sam begins, and Dean stops him with an annoyed snarl.

“He doesn’t say anything,” Dean grinds out. “He’s been hiding this from me. Dammit, Sam, why doesn’t he understand that I want to help him?”

Sam doesn’t bother to point out that the last time Castiel had come to them for help with his unexpected newborn, Dean had yelled and Cas had fled. And before that, they’d trapped him in a ring of holy fire and refused to listen to his explanations. Sam can’t really blame Cas for keeping his problems to himself; they’ve set a rather unpleasant precedent.

“And I take it he still gets annoyed when you _ask_ him anything?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles wanly. “Unfortunately, he seems to have gone to the Winchester School of Hiding Your Pain From Your Loved Ones. All he tells me now is that he’s ‘fine.’” Dean brushes away a curl of dark hair clinging to Castiel’s sweaty forehead.

“You think he’s dying.”

“I think… if he doesn’t recover soon, he will die, yeah. And if he dies… so does Dani.”

No. They can’t lose any more family - especially not this fragile new life who makes Dean so _happy_.

And makes Sam happy, as well. It’s been awhile since their family has felt anywhere near whole.

Dean suddenly frowns, and Sam drops his gaze to Castiel’s face. The furrow in Castiel’s brow is back, along with a pained grimace. Though there isn’t a repeat of the seizure, at least.

Still, Sam can’t shake the feeling there’ll be worse to come…

~oOo~

Castiel’s hands are trembling. He doesn’t think Dean notices, but it’s obvious to Castiel. Fortunately, burgers don’t require steady hands, and he’s able to finish his final portion of food without causing a scene.

Finished, he sits back in the couch, Danielle wrapped tightly in his arms, and fights to stay awake. He’s been sleeping far too much lately, and he’s waking up tired. If this keeps up, Dean will catch on that something is seriously wrong, and Cas doesn’t want to worry him. He’s already caught Dean giving him odd, searching looks, and knows from his expression that Dean doesn’t like what he sees.

They’re watching a cartoon Castiel had found about a little girl and a blue alien, and Castiel finds it rather charming. There’s something about the little misunderstood made creature, a dangerous being that discovers it is capable of feeling love and compassion, that Castiel can relate to.

It also makes him ask Dean if they should get a dog for Danielle.

“A dog?” Dean sputters. “Why would we want a dog?”

“Pets teach responsibility,” Castiel says reasonably. “They protect their families, and can sense the presence of many supernatural creatures. A dog would be a good playmate for Danielle. Plus, stroking a pet can lower blood pressure - something you could use, Dean. You are no longer young, and you should take better care of yourself.”

Sam stifles a laugh. Dean just looks indignant.

“Yeah, but… Dogs shed. And scratch. And poop.”

“So do you,” Castiel counters.

Sam’s less successful this time around hiding his amusement. Dean glowers.

“I don’t understand your unwillingness to have a pet,” Castiel says. “It would be simpler to care for than Danielle. Perhaps you would prefer we get a cat, instead? I like cats.” 

“Can we wait until she’s older to have this discussion?” Dean sounds a little desperate. “She’s too young to do anything with a pet anyway, except maybe suck on its tail. And I don’t want some mangy mutt attacking Dani for treating it like one of her stuffed toys.”

Castiel sighs in exasperation. “I would ask it not to, Dean. Animals respect angels, unlike some humans I know. Still, we will postpone this discussion until Danielle is old enough to appreciate a pet.”

He’s not sure why Dean looks as if he won a great victory. Castiel is not going to forget this. Besides, if Castiel doesn’t improve, then this is all a moot point, anyway.

Castiel leans forward to unearth the television remote from the clutter of food wrappers on the coffee table (Dean had warned Castiel not to accidentally eat it during his bingeing; he thinks Dean meant it as a joke, but Castiel had taken the warning to heart since it was a real possibility, given his voracious hunger), and suddenly the world seems to be yanked out from under him. He’s distantly aware of the sensation of falling, and thinks this should alarm him more than it actually does. But before he can muster an appropriate emotional response, his vision goes black, and he‘s not feeling anything at all.

“Cas? What the Hell? Cas? CAS!”

Castiel jerks back into consciousness with a keen that shatters the glasses on the table and cracks a window. He pushes to his hands and knees, knocking his head on the underside of the coffee table (what is he doing on the floor?) and staggers to his feet, blade out and eyes wild as he searches for the foe who’d felled him. A hoarse voice is repeating, _not again, NOT AGAIN…_ and he’s shocked to realize the irrational, babbling voice is his.

“Cas, hey, whoa, it’s just us!” Dean’s voice cuts through blinding panic, and finally he turns to the other man. Dean is clutching Danielle, who’s screeching and fighting his grip, her tentacles reaching desperately towards Castiel. “You’re in Bobby’s living room; Raphael didn’t touch you. It’s just us here. You’re safe.”

Sanity returns, and Castiel lowers his blade. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened,” he says slowly. It had been like being rendered unconscious, but he‘d taken no injury.

“Cas, you _passed out._ ” At Castiel’s blank look, Dean clarifies, “You fainted.”

Fainted? That was an alarming turn of events.

Danielle’s wails reach a pitch that borders on an angel’s true voice, and Castiel holds out his arms for her. Dean hands her over and she subsides to whimpers as she anxiously probes Castiel’s face. He cradles her close, feeling her solid, comforting weight against him. “Has she been harmed?” Castiel asks as he strokes her soft back. He’d obviously fallen, and had mostly likely dropped her in the process.

“She’s more scared than anything else, I think.” Dean tenderly strokes one floppy wing, which is quaking beneath his touch. “You dropped her, but she wasn’t hurt.” Despite Dean’s assurance, Castiel still checks her over, and sags with relief when he doesn’t find any injuries. 

“Cas! Talk to me. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fi-” 

“Don’t give me that ‘fine’ crap. I _invented_ that.” Before Castiel can divert Dean by pointing out the inaccuracy of this statement and explaining the real origin of the word fine, Dean says, “ _Talk_ to me, Cas. I want to help you.”

“You can’t, Dean. This isn’t something you can do anything about. No one can help me with this.” Castiel’s gaze drops to the Nephil trembling in his arms. “I can’t keep up with Danielle’s needs. She feeds on Grace faster than I can replenish it. A baby angel must absorb enough Grace to grow to adult size, and acquires much of that Grace through not only its parents, but from Heaven itself. It is doubtful Danielle will grow to my size, but she can still take enough to… to kill me,” he sighs. He’s prepared to make that sacrifice, for her sake. He thinks he can hang on long enough to get her past her critical growing period.

Maybe.

“But… she’s tiny! And you’re the size of a building, right? How can she be taking that much from you?” Dean’s eyes are wild, and Castiel realizes Dean’s afraid for him. If circumstances weren’t so dire, it would have been gratifying to see their relationship is recovering.

“Remember, her birth took a large chunk of my Grace that I have yet to recover. And there is more to her than what you see. Like me, she is multi-dimensional.” He decides not to tell Dean she has more wings, eyes, and tentacles that he can’t see. Dean’s negative comments about her appearance - and Castiel’s by proxy - still sting.

“Can we… wean her off?” Sam asks. “You’ve been eating to replenish your Grace; would that work with her? Could we just give her more formula?”

“She’s too young to be weaned; she still needs nourishment only my Grace can give her. And she has a human’s stomach capacity. She consumes as much solid food as she is able. To force more on her would make her ill. No; she needs Grace.”

“She should be feeding off both parents, right? Can she do what you did with Bobby and feed on my soul?” He looks as though the idea makes him ill - humans are protective of their souls, after all - but obviously, he’ll do whatever it takes to save Danielle. 

Castiel shakes his head. “She’s shown no interest in your soul. Which is fortunate; she would lack the fine control needed to touch a soul without harming it. She _would_ kill you.” He suspects that wouldn’t deter Dean, if it saved Danielle’s life, so it’s fortunate that she doesn’t feed off human souls.

Castiel flops back onto the couch with far less grace than he usually commands and cuddles Danielle to his chest. She’s calmer now, and humming tunelessly as she absorbs his Grace, utterly oblivious to the fact that she’s draining the life from him. Castiel grabs the remote and flips the channel to the first thing he finds that isn’t daytime television.

“Cas,” Dean begins, after several moments of being pointedly ignored.

“This discussion is over,” Castiel snaps, and turns his head to the television to watch a documentary about cute baby animals that will likely die horribly before reaching adulthood. It’s far less depressing than the reality he’s facing.

~oOo~

As soon as Castiel settles down for a nap (and now that Dean’s aware of how serious things are, he realizes Cas has been sleeping more frequently lately) he heads out to the salvage yard, to pick up Balthazar’s next food delivery - and to swallow his pride and beg for divine intervention.

“Balthazar? Inias?” Dean hesitates, but he‘s desperate. “Hester? Please… I need to speak to you.”

There’s the beat of immense wings, and suddenly Hester is there, watching him with wary contempt. “What is it?” she demands.

“It’s Cas… he’s fading, fast. He needs more than just this.” He gestures at the trio of hampers.

Hester may be contemptuous of Dean, but she’s a loyal soldier, and Castiel is her brother as well as her former commanding officer. “What would you have us do?” she asks, tilting her head, Cas-like. “We can’t just sneak him into Heaven.”

“Couldn’t you just… sneak a bit of Heaven to him? Souls recharge him too, right? Why not bring a couple to him, just enough to get him back on his feet again?” Dean asks desperately. The thought of so many people snatched out of their comfy little Heavens to power up Castiel makes him nauseous, but he’s _desperate_. The lives of his best friend and his daughter are at stake.

“Castiel is missing almost a third of his Grace. It would require _thousands_ of souls to replace all that; such a large number of souls could not be taken from Heaven without notice - or consequence.”

A third? When Castiel had originally spoken of part of his Grace going to Danielle, he’d said he’d lost a _quarter_ of it. Was Danielle really consuming that much? What was the maximum amount of Grace an angel could lose before succumbing?

“I’ll talk to Balthazar. I don’t know what he can do, but he will at least increase Castiel’s food supply.” She stares off into the distance, lips pursed thoughtfully. “The Heavenly weapons,” she muses slowly. “They have been soaking up Grace for millennia. Perhaps Castiel may be able to siphon energy from one of them. I will discuss this with Balthazar.”

Dean realizes he likes Hester, after all. She may be brusque, but she obviously cares deeply for her brother, exiled though he may be. “Thank you,” Dean says, heartfelt.

She waves her hand dismissively. “I’m doing this for Castiel. And it’s likely nothing will come of this.” And with that, she’s gone. Now, all he can do is wait, and hope the angels come up with some sort of solution.

The answer comes sooner than they expected. Some forty-five minutes after Castiel had dug into the first hamper, he receives a call from Balthazar.

“Dean,” Castiel says, as he places the phone carefully back into his pocket, “why does Balthazar feel that I need help?”

“I asked,” Dean says, chin lifted stubbornly. “You’re not getting better on your own.”

“You told them I am weak.” Castiel’s voice is carefully empty of emotion, and Dean realizes he’s angry. That cold, smiting rage that forced Dean to remember that he‘s dealing with something ancient and alien that could smite Dean‘s puny human ass as easily as Dean would swat a fly. “They may be my allies, but I am still under a death sentence, and now they know I am _vulnerable._ ”

“I’m not going to just sit back and watch you die,” Dean snarls. “I’m not losing any more family on my watch. If they‘ve thought of a way to help you, then you‘re going to take it. Besides, they already know you‘re in trouble - Hester said a third of your Grace is gone. A _third_. If you were human you‘d be dead!”

Castiel has that determined, stubborn set to his jaw, and for a moment Dean thinks he’s going to refuse. But then Danielle peeps, and his gaze drops to her multitude of guileless, adoring eyes, and he caves. “All right. I’ll listen to what they have to say.”

So they head out into the salvage yard, the armed Winchester brothers walking ahead of Castiel and Danielle. Because Castiel is right; allies or no, angels are conditioned to kill Nephilim and their parents. Keeping that in mind, they’re heavily armed and ready for anything.

Anything, that is, except for the sight that greets him.

Dean stumbles to a halt, and Sam runs into him. It’s a bit like being hit by a train, Dean thinks. But not as yielding. 

“Is that the freaking Ark of the Covenant?” Dean stares, slack-jawed, at the gleaming chest slung between Inias and Hester. It’s plated with pure, flawless gold, intricately carved, and topped by a curving lid decorated with two angels, wingtips touching. Unlike the movie prop, however, these angels are four-faced monstrosities, part man, part lion, part eagle and ox.

Even Sam is awed. “It’s real?” he breathes, voice high with excitement.

“Of course it’s real,” Balthazar snaps. “And yes, it can melt the faces off Nazis and dumb asses, so unless you’ve always wanted an excuse for reconstructive surgery, I would recommend you stand behind one of these heaps of rusty eyesores when we open it.”

“Right,” Sam says weakly, backing away as though terrified the lid was going to open of its own volition.

“What’s inside?” Dean asks, creeping closer to the artifact in spite of his determination not to leave the wards. He just wants to take a peek…

Cas snags his shoulder and jerks him back. “The Ark is very alluring,” he warns. “And I do not wish for your face to be melted off. I like it the way it is.”

Dean opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, not sure how to respond to that.

“What is inside?” Sam asks warily. “Lore says it held the stone tablets Ten Commandments, and possibly manna and a scroll written by Moses. It just sounds like some elaborate storage chest.”

Balthazar snorts, and his voice drips with condescension as he explains, “Yes, it did contain the Commandments, but it had other purposes. It provided a direct line between God and Moses through the statues, and brought plagues upon unbelievers. It stopped the flow of rivers, and brought low pagan gods. All this was due to the Ark‘s secret, the contents it was built to contain: the combined Graces of the twin Cherubim Jael and Zurall, given freely in the service of the Lord. It is _much_ more than a ‘storage chest.‘ Most importantly, however, Castiel may be able to take a portion of this Grace within himself and replenish what he has lost. Emphasis on _may_. Castiel is a Seraph; his Grace is a different wavelength from a Cherub’s. And this Grace has been altered for use by faithful humans, ‘weaponized,‘ so to speak, so it may not take at all. Think of this as being like a skin graft. It could integrate into his own Grace, or Castiel may find it incompatible and reject it.”

“And if he rejects it, no harm done, right?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing. Balthazar’s attitude about this is almost too cavalier; he’s hiding something.

When Balthazar doesn’t immediately respond, Dean opens his mouth to demand an answer. Castiel cuts him off with a quiet, “I may explode. Again.”

“No,” Dean says immediately. “No way are you getting near that thing, Cas!”

“It may be the only way to hold him together long enough for his Grace to regenerate on its own,” Balthazar says.

“I’m willing to try,” Castiel says determinedly.

“Cas! Did you not hear the bit about exploding?” Dean snarls. “No friggin’ way you’re doing this!”

Castiel meets Dean’s eyes with his own unflinching stare. “I was under the impression that you wanted me to go along with their plan, whatever the risk,” Castiel says calmly. “I have been blown apart twice before. It is a far less painful death than this slow erosion of my Grace. If I am to die either way, let it be a death of my choosing.” His expressions softens. “I would not do this if there was any other choice. It may be the only way to save myself - and Danielle.”

Castiel hands off Danielle to Dean. “Go. I will be fine,” he says. He doesn’t sound convinced.

But there’s nothing Dean can say to change his mind. And really, Dean knows deep down that this is necessary. Castiel is dying, and they’re out of options.

Dean reluctantly heads off to the nearest pile of junkers and crouches behind it, Danielle cradled to his chest. Now that Castiel is out of her line of sight, she’s starting to whimper. Sam takes a seat next to them and offers his hand to the Nephil, and she anxiously wraps two tentacles around his fingers. 

For a few minutes, nothing happens. Dean can hear voices, too inaudible to make out words, and then there’s silence. Then a wind stirs the previously dead air, bringing with it whispering, half-heard voices. It’s all the warning they get before the world around them whites out. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, but he can’t block it out. It’s like staring at the heart of a nuclear blast - or like trying to glimpse the true form of an angel. Dean throws an arm over his face, though he knows that if he was going to be harmed by the Ark‘s effects, it would have happened already. 

The whispering becomes shouting, in a language Dean doesn’t recognize, and the unholy chorus is joined by another sound that makes Dean’s blood run cold.

Screams. Whatever is happening, Castiel is in agonizing pain, and Dean wants to run out and kill Balthazar and company for talking Cas into this. Except much of the blame was his; he’d been the one to ask for help. 

Danielle’s whimpers become terrified shrieks, and Dean cuddles her closer and whispers soothing nonsense. It’s not effective with a baby that can pick up on emotions.

And then the screaming abruptly cuts off, and the light dims. Dean uncovers his face and blinks his eyes, surprised that they don’t seem to be suffering any ill effects from the glare. Dean tenses, and Danielle tightens her grip fearfully. There’s a moment of silence so profound that Dean wonders for a moment if he’s gone deaf, then, “Dean?” Castiel’s voice is raw, barely audible. “It’s safe to come out.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He staggers to his feet, ignoring the protest of his knees (because he’s not old enough to be in this much pain, dammit) and rounds the pile of cars, Sam hot on his heels. Balthazar and the others are gone, along with the Ark. Castiel stands wearily at the edge of the wards, and he straightens as soon as he sees Dean and Dani.

Castiel’s eyes are glowing, and the nebulous shadows of his wings stretch across the salvage yard. Dean takes two steps towards him, but is forced to stop. Castiel is radiating energy, and it makes Dean’s skin tingle uncomfortable and raises the hair on his arms. Danielle seems immune to the effects; she’s straining towards Cas with all her tentacles, warbling plaintively. Dean has the urge to bolt, but manages to hold his ground long enough for Castiel to take the Nephil. 

“You okay, Cas?” He looks better, if still not one hundred percent.

“I’ll live,” is all Castiel says.

It’s enough.

~oOo~

When a full day passes without Castiel experiencing anything worse than metaphysical indigestion, Dean finally begins to relax. Cas isn’t going to explode again, and while he seems a bit moodier than usual, Dean’s not going to complain. And at least standing next to him no longer feels like being too close to a downed power line. (Although the fact that Castiel’s charge had had a literally hair-raising effect on Sam had made it totally worth it. Dean is going to treasure the photo always.)

Without the constant worry that Cas is going to fade away, things are as peaceful as they can be in the Singer household.

But the Winchesters aren’t allowed to have a peaceful life. They’ve just finished breakfast (which Castiel had graciously shared from his hampers) when Bobby’s personal phone rings. He takes it in the study, and when he returns to the kitchen, his face is grim.

“That was Ellie,” he says. “Somethin’ got to her, and it sounds like she’s hurt pretty bad. I‘m headin‘ out to pick her up.”

In under half an hour, Bobby and Sam are gone, hopefully in time to save Dr. Visyak and find out what she knows.

Or, more likely, burn her body.

Castiel takes the news silently, his face revealing nothing. Only the fact that he’s restless, unable to settle down for his customary post-meal nap, proves he’s not unaffected by the news. He reacts by prowling around the house aimlessly, the Nephil clutched tightly to his chest. Danielle peeps tiredly in his arms, obviously confused as to why they’re still awake.

Dean would snap at him, tell him to sit down before he drives Dean nuts with his pacing, but his own nerves are taut, and years of finely-honed hunter’s instincts are screaming a warning.

Their little calm before the storm, their peaceful domesticity, is at an end.

Something’s going down, _soon_ , and it could get Apocalyptic.

Dean spends the day cleaning weapons and checking supplies. Castiel offers to help, and Dean makes an attempt to teach him, until an attempt by Danielle to grab a tentacleful of bullets puts an end to the lesson. Dean banishes them to the horrors of daytime television, where he at least knows his daughter won’t be sucking on bullets. That’s a nightmare he doesn’t need.

Dean is just finishing cleaning his Colt 1911 and buffing off the last of the oil when Castiel comes back into the study, worry creasing his brow.

“Couldn’t find the ponies?” Dean asks. He meets Castiel’s unwavering gaze, and his amusement fades. “What happened?”

“Balthazar just called,” Castiel says. “He says he has news about Raphael he thinks I should hear. He sounded… peculiar.”

“Peculiar? Peculiar, how?” Dean slips the Colt down the back of his jeans and picks up an angel blade. 

“More guarded with his words. As though someone were listening in.”

“Maybe you’d better stay here,” Dean says, though he knows it’s a futile hope. And oh, how he wishes Danielle could stay behind, but with Cas’s severe separation issues, leaving her would be more of a hindrance to him than a help.

“You know I can’t,” Castiel sighs. “This is a Heavenly matter, and I need to hear it directly from him. Do not worry, Dean… I renewed the wards this morning, and I will not be unarmed. And for the first time since Danielle’s birth, I feel strong enough to protect myself.”

Dean’s not exactly comforted, but there’s not really much else he can do.

They head out into the salvage yard, Danielle in the crook of Dean’s left elbow and sword gripped in his right hand, and Castiel a stride ahead, his own angel blade held at the ready. When hey reach the heap of junkers that shielded Dean from the Ark, they pause. Dean peers through the shattered windows of the lowermost car, and when he sees nothing suspicious, he beckons Castiel forward.

Balthazar is waiting, alone.

It’s not the first time they’ve met with Balthazar on his own, but something about the way the angel is standing feels… off, somehow. Dean can’t put his finger on what, but he trusts his instincts - and they’re telling him something is terribly wrong.

Castiel growls and lunges forward, blade flashing.

Balthazar flicks his hand and Castiel goes sprawling, landing on his stomach and flattening out as though pinned. The angel blade rolls away from his hand under the skeletal frame of an old Buick, out of reach.

And Dean… can’t move. His muscles have locked, holding him in place.

In his arms, Danielle squalls desperately, torn between trying to see if Dean is okay and wanting to go to her fallen mother.

Balthazar steps over the ward’s borderline and stops at the edge of the Devil’s Trap painted just inside. He studies it a moment, smirking. And then he looks up, meeting Dean’s gaze. With another languid twitch of his fingers, Dean is yanked forward, staggering in an effort to stay upright, until he’s within Balthazar’s reach. The angel rips Danielle from his grip and holds her at arm’s length, ignoring her heartrending wails.

And his eyes change to red-on-black.

It’s not Balthazar.

“Crowley,” Castiel hisses savagely, lips pulled back from his teeth. Fuck, Dean thinks. It is him, isn’t it?

“Cas… you’ve been holding out on me. You should have told me you needed maternity leave.” The demon in the angel’s vessel holds Danielle at eye level, examining her closely. Her cries become more shrill. “Ugly little thing, isn’t it? Your true form must be quite a sight. No wonder you lot burn eyes out.”

Castiel grits his teeth and scrabbles harder against the ground, straining to break free from the invisible hold. Dean sees blood on his fingertips.

“Let her go, Crowley! She’s not part of this!” Dean fights the hold on his muscles, but he’s hopelessly stuck fast.

Crowley ignores him. He holds out a hand, and a rusted drive shaft pulls free from a skeletal car frame, dragging a furrow in the ground as it slides toward Crowley, breaking the Devil’s Trap in the process.

Crowley steps over the trap and stands over Castiel, staring down at the struggling angel with a vicious grin that looks wrong on Balthazar’s face.

“Wasn’t expecting you to go all Mama Bear on me,” he says, amused. “Still, it makes this easier for me - after all, you‘re coming, too.” The force holding Castiel vanishes, and the angel lunges towards the demon and his daughter. “Ah, ah, ah,” Crowley tuts, his grip on Danielle tightening. She squeals. “Try anything, and… well, I won’t kill her, since I promised my new business partner I’d bring her in alive, but she doesn’t need quite so many eyes, does she?”

Castiel makes a strangulated wail. And all the fight just goes out of him. He slumps, gaze downcast, and whispers brokenly, “Please… don’t hurt her. Let her go. Take me, instead.”

“Sorry, no can do. Unlike some beings I can name,” Crowley levels a scorching gaze on Castiel, “I keep my bargains. And my associate wants both of you.”

“Dean?” Castiel looks to him helplessly, willing Dean to understand why he has to do this.

“Cas… go. She needs you. I’ll find you. I swear it, I’ll find you.”

“Touching,” Crowley sneers. “But ultimately, _wrong_. Well, come on then, ‘Mommy.’” He holds out his hand. “Wouldn’t want to separate the family.”

Castiel gives Dean one last, anguished look as Crowley’s hand grips Castiel’s shoulder, and then demon, angel, and Nephil all vanish.

~tbc~

Originally, this chapter was going to have the scene where Cas finally had a breakdown over what Raphael did to him, but it just wasn’t working out. So Cas is going to continue coping with his situation remarkably well until I’m in the right frame of mind to handle something emotionally charged like that.

It’s now _Supernatural_ canon: Nephilim are badasses that angels can’t sense (well, Castiel didn’t pick up on what the waitress was) and can beat up angels. Awesome.

I have this bit of headcanon in which Jael, one of the two Cherubim who adorn the top of the Ark, was Crowley before he Fell (and concealed his identity by making up a BS story about being a Scot who wanted a few more inches…) He and Zurall were twins, and the energy contained within the Ark was their Grace, which had been weaponized. (Once again, I owe thanks to my handy _Encyclopedia of Angels_ , which gave me the names of the two Cherubim atop the Ark, though everything else is my own personal fancy. Perhaps I’ll write that story some day…)


	11. The Man Who Knew Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a rescue is mounted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I apologize that I’m getting chapters out so slowly, but I’ve been so depressed that it’s difficult to motivate myself to write. Or do anything at all, for that matter. And I’m not satisfied with it, but if I kept tinkering with it, it would never get posted.

Dean doesn’t know how long he stands staring at the spot where Cas and Dani had been before he starts shouting for Hester and Inias. He screams himself hoarse, but there’s no flurry of wings, no sarcastic comments to announce their presence. He almost drops to his knees to beg for any angel who hears his prayer to come, but he’s more likely to get one of Raphael’s followers than anyone sympathetic to his plight.

Crowley had been wearing Balthazar - or, rather, his vessel, and since Dean doubts the other angel had ditched his meatsuit willingly, that meant Balthazar was a prisoner. Or dead. And if Crowley had been able to make it onto Bobby’s property without their angelic watchdogs attacking, then he’d taken out Inias and Hester, as well.

They’re on their own for this one.

As Dean trudges back towards the house, he pulls out his phone and calls Sam.

When his brother answers, Dean can’t find his voice. Saying it aloud will make it all real.

“Dean, what is it?” Sam asks, instantly alert.

“Crowley took Cas and Dani,” Dean finally manages, his voice cracking in spite of his efforts to keep his emotions in check.

Muffled curses come over the line, then Dean hears Bobby ask for the phone.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Bobby demands.

Dean takes a deep breath, then talks, keeping the story succinct, detached, knowing he has to keep his emotions in check. He’s had his breakdown; now his anguish is being replaced by the steely resolve that’s gotten him through previous trials.

“What happened with Dr. Visyak?” She’s their last link to Purgatory. It all comes down to the souls, like Death had warned. The fates of Cas and Dani are tied to the opening of the doorway, and so far, they know nothing.

Dean feels a momentary flash of rage. _Fuck_ Cas, for bringing this down on them all, for dragging his innocent daughter into this!

Just as abruptly, his anger deflates. Cas’s heart had been in the right place, and over the last few days, he’d tried to help undo his mistakes.

“We found her, but… she didn’t make it. She hung on just long enough to tell us about the ritual.”

“Sorry, Bobby.” He doesn’t know the details about Bobby’s relationship with the Purgatory monster, but he knows Bobby had cared for her. And as monsters went, she hadn’t been all that bad.

“It gets worse. Ellie managed to warn us that Crowley’s workin’ with an angel, and from the description… Dean, it’s Raphael.”

“Fuck,” Dean hisses. Of course it would be. He runs his fingers through his hair, running through and immediately discarding possible ways to defeat the King of Hell and the last archangel standing. If it had been that easy, Castiel would have done it already.

“Dean, I know you’re hurting, but just listen for a moment, would ya? I know you want to go after them now, but we can’t go rushing into this unprepared.” Dean’s about to argue when Bobby finishes, “Nothing’s gonna happen before tomorrow night.” 

“What’s tomorrow night?”

“The door to Purgatory can only be opened during a lunar eclipse, and since tomorrow is the only eclipse this year, it’s their only shot at this. Cas and Dani will be safe until then.” Bobby sounds so sure of this that Dean finds himself marginally relaxing. 

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because it sounds like Cas and Dani are _payment_ for Raphael’s services, so he’ll need to keep them alive until then. And I doubt Crowley’d even consider handing them over before the ritual.”

It sounds logical, but Dean can think of far too many other scenarios in which they’re already too late. But before he can start listing everything that could go wrong, Bobby says, “Don’t you go haring off after them until we know more. Sam and I are only a couple hours away. Just keep tryin’ the Heavenly Hotline until someone shows up. We’ll come up with a plan when we get back.”

Dean wants to protest, but he can see the logic of this. He’d be one man against a possible combined army of demons and angels. Going into this half-cocked would only get him killed. “Yeah,” Dean says tightly. “Hurry back, Bobby. I don‘t know how long I can keep myself from doing something stupid.”

“Already breakin’ the speed limit. We _will_ get them back, Dean.”

~oOo~

Traveling by demon is nothing like flying. There’s a disorienting twist to reality, a push-pull sensation against his wounded Grace, and then Castiel finds himself falling to his hands and knees on the cracked floor of Crowley’s laboratory. His Grace is in turmoil, and Castiel feels like he’s going to be sick.

Castiel suddenly understands Dean’s reluctance to let Castiel fly him anywhere.

Castiel would have remained in his undignified position until his Grace finally settled, but Danielle’s whimpers bring him lurching to his feet. Before he can make a move on Crowley, two demons Castiel hadn’t noticed take his arms and yank him back.

Crowley had pulled Danielle close to his chest during their teleportation, and now he’s attempting to detach her from his shirt. She’s secreted enough slime that she’s stuck, and Crowley looks revolted as he finally manages to peel her off and transfer her to the crook of his elbow. He tries to flick a glob of it off his fingers, and scowls as it continues to cling to his skin. “Seriously, Cas…” He finally manages to wipe his fingers clean against Balthazar’s shirt. “I can’t believe you care for this thing. Your maternal instincts must be a real bitch.”

Castiel clenches his jaw, refusing to rise to Crowley’s bait.

“It definitely has your eyes,” Crowley smirks. “All several dozen of them. And Dean’s, if I’m not mistaken. You would have to pick the stupid brother, wouldn’t you?”

Castiel bristles, but still says nothing.

“Still, I can’t complain. I’ve been looking for leverage, since you’ve forbidden me from using the Winchesters and I _honor_ my agreements, and you’ve gone and created the perfect hostage. Saves me a lot of trouble; here I was planning to abduct that whore Dean spent the last year with, and her little brat, too.”

Castiel holds back a whimper. His worst fears are being realized, and he’s helpless to do anything. He has the strength to burn out his two demon guards, yes, but Crowley will be watching for Castiel to make a move. He could kill Danielle or vanish with her before Castiel reached him.

Better to wait for the right moment to present itself. 

As long as Crowley is standing there gloating, he’s not hurting Danielle. And if his attention should happen to slip…

“How did you force Balthazar from his vessel?” Castiel demands. There are two ways to remove an angel from its vessel against its will: through exorcism, like what Alastair had attempted, and with a variation of the angel banishing sigil, an excruciating method Castiel never wanted to experience again. Both methods left distinctive ’scarring’ patterns on the souls of the vessels. Balthazar had been ejected via angelic sigil, and Castiel didn’t like the implications of that. No demon should know how to do that.

Crowley shrugs. “Speaking of which, I think I’m going to change. Seriously, who wears a v-neck?” he scoffs.

Danielle lets out a whine, and Castiel instinctively reaches for her. Crowley twists away, putting his body between them. “Uh-uh, Cas… I have a special place set up for your little spawn.”

“She needs me, ” Castiel says. “She feeds off my Grace; she needs to be in contact - ”

“I won’t let it starve,” Crowley cuts him off, starting to sound annoyed. “That would defeat the purpose of taking it alive. I give you my word; as long as you cooperate, no harm will come to Junior while it’s in my care.”

Crowley’s word, once given, is unbreakable, but Castiel is inconsolable. He needs to hold Danielle in his arms, reassure himself that she’s all right, sooth her fears, quench her hunger…

“You really do have it bad, don’t you?” Crowley asks pityingly. “I can’t imagine being this attached to something so needy and helpless and _revolting_. This thing is killing you, and you really don‘t care, do you? Really, Cas, I’m doing you a favor.” He tightens his grip on Danielle, and she cries out.

Danielle’s shriek is cut off by Crowley’s disappearance. Castiel keens, shattering the lab’s glassware, and doesn’t stop until one of his demonic guards cuffs him with the butt of the angel blade. With a moan, he slides to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. The demons smirk down at him, and one of them comments to the other about the ’mighty Castiel’, cringing beneath a demon’s boot. Castiel pays them no heed; he’s not afraid of the demons - even in his weakened state, there‘s not much low-level thugs like them could do to seriously harm him. His terror is entirely for Danielle. He tries to follow, but Danielle has vanished from his senses; Crowley has hidden her behind wards, and Castiel doesn’t have the strength to fight his way through the building to find her.

They’d never been separated before, and it _hurts_. Castiel has never felt pain that cut him so deeply, like something vital has just been ripped from his body. He wonders if losing his Grace would hurt this badly.

Crowley returns ten minutes later, clad in his familiar meatsuit and grinning smugly. Danielle isn’t with him.

“Where is she?” Castiel bellows, gaining his feet and making a lung for the smirking demon. It’s pathetic how easily his guards knock him back to the floor. Castiel stays down, realizing it’s to his advantage to exaggerate his weakened state.

“Your spawn is safe. For now. Just how healthy it remains depends on your good behavior.”

“She’s not part of this, Crowley,” Castiel says miserably. He’s prostrating himself to a demon for Danielle’s life, and he knows he’ll do much more to save her. A part of him is stunned just how deep his bond with her goes. “I’ll cooperate; please, just let her go.”

“And what makes you think _you’re_ the prize?”

Castiel’s brow furrows in confusion. “I reneged our deal. I questioned your decisions, changed plans to suit my needs, and even aided the Winchesters when it was detrimental to our goal.” Castiel ducks his head in shame as he suddenly realizes he‘s shown less honor than a _demon._ “Of the two of us, you were the one with integrity.”

Crowley shrugs. “True… but that’s nothing I wouldn’t have expected from you. Unlike the Winchesters, I don’t underestimate you.”

“Then why?” 

“Simple, Castiel. You’re _food. _” Castiel’s jaw goes slack as Crowley continues, “That little horror of yours nurses off your Grace, so until it’s weaned, I can’t kill you.” Crowley’s lips twist in a moue of disappointment. “’Course, that doesn’t mean I can’t rough you up a little, does it?”__

__Crowley’s mouth stretches into a vicious smile._ _

__~oOo~_ _

__Dean somehow doesn’t jump into the Impala and break the sound barrier going after his angel and daughter, but it’s a near thing. Only the threat of Raphael, and the knowledge that he’ll need to be armed with more than just his rage if he wants to bring the archangel and the King of Hell down, keep him inside the house waiting for Sam and Bobby. He also doesn’t take a crowbar to one of Bobby’s junkers and beat it until he’s too exhausted to swing anymore, because he doesn’t want to wear himself out before the inevitable final confrontation._ _

__So instead he gathers every weapon they have for use against demons and angels (a woefully small collection) and finishes the job he started with them (had it only that morning?) and cleaning them until they gleam. Danielle’s stuffed octopus sits on the corner of the table, googly eyes watching forlornly. And when that’s finished, Dean pulls out Sam’s laptop. His research-fu isn’t as strong as his brother’s, but Dean’s no dummy, and he’s strongly motivated. Castiel had told him about Crowley’s lair, an abandoned mental hospital near Bootback, Kansas, and Dean quickly turns up the probably location. A bit more digging, and Dean unearths a video shot in the building by amateur ghost hunters (well before Crowley‘s takeover, luckily for them), which leads him to the blueprints they’d uploaded on their website. Dean prints them out, and is still studying them when Sam and Bobby finally return._ _

__They don’t waste time on platitudes, much to Dean’s relief._ _

__“What’s the situation?” Bobby asks, as Sam flips through the stack of printouts. “We getting any Heavenly back-up?”_ _

__“None of the angels are answering. And no one made a food drop this evening. I considered making an open prayer to any angel who’s listening, but I figured I was more likely to get a foe than friend.”_ _

__“So it’s just us humans, then.” Bobby’s face is grim. “Well, we’ve had worse odds.”_ _

__True; they’d survived the fucking _Apocalypse_ , after all, and there’d been family at stake then, too. Except Sam hadn’t been a helpless baby, or a wounded angel barely held together by his FrankenGrace. _ _

__“I’ll make some calls, see if there are any other hunters nearby,” Bobby continues, “but I think we’re on our own on this one.”_ _

__It wouldn’t be the first time._ _

__“Let’s go,” Dean says, picking up the duffel of newly-cleaned weapons. Sam and Bobby, who hadn’t even bothered to remove their boots and jackets, are already out the door, transferring their gear from Bobby’s Chevelle to the Impala._ _

__If they leave now, they’ll have a day to scout the area. With luck, they’ll be able to get an estimate of how many and what kind of enemies they’ll be going up against._ _

__Because it’s going to be the three of them against an archangel and the King of Hell, and they need all the advantages they can get._ _

__Dean has the sickening feeling that it won’t be enough._ _

__~oOo~_ _

__Castiel is seated in a hard wooden chair, head resting on the cracked surface of an old table. His arms are wrapped around his aching belly, an unconscious and utterly useless effort to ease the pain. His head is turned towards the locked and warded door of his cell, through which he can hear the ticking of claws as his hellhound guardian paces tirelessly in front of the door._ _

__One hellhound. Castiel would feel offended that Crowley thinks he’s so weak that a single hellhound is enough to keep him docile, except… he’s not exactly wrong. Even if Castiel could get past the wards, taking on the hellhound would finish off what’s left of his reserves, and he’d be recaptured long before he reached Danielle. The only time Castiel has felt this depleted was when he‘d burned all his Grace out helping Dean and Sam break into the Green Room. Crowley is denying him food, and after a day of losing Grace to his child without any means of replenishing it, he can barely walk, much less fight his way down. The only reason he’s still conscious is because of his Grace patch-job._ _

__That, and his stubborn refusal to give in to his weakness. He needs to be awake, be aware, so he can seize any opportunity to escape that presents itself. The nearer the eclipse draws, the more focused Crowley will become on the ritual, and the greater Castiel’s chance for escape will be. Until then, he’ll just have to conserve his strength and plan._ _

__Castiel wonders how long he’s been here. It can’t have been more than a few days, surely, but he’d lost quite a bit of time, spent in a haze of pain. It had taken Danielle’s cries to pull him back to lucidity, and he’s determined not to be overwhelmed again._ _

__After Crowley’s promise to ‘rough him up,’ he’d had Castiel taken to his laboratory. Eve’s corpse, still fresh even after weeks of being laid out on the table for Crowley to experiment with._ _

__Crowley ignored the gore-spattered tables with their rusted restraints. They wouldn’t have held Castiel, anyway. Instead, he’d pushed Castiel into a solidly built wooden chair with the frayed remains of rope wound around the arms and back, and claw marks gouged into the ends of the arms. There were no other signs of physical restraints, or even metaphysical ones capable of holding an angel._ _

__But then, Crowley didn’t need them - so long as he held Danielle captive, he had Castiel bound more securely than if he’d used holy fire._ _

__When Crowley had ordered the henchdemons to hold Castiel down, he finally broke. He couldn’t help it; the thought of being helpless, completely at the mercy of another antagonistic being made something in him snap. He’d lashed out, sending the two demons flying, and lurched to his feet. Crowley, returning from retrieving his case of instruments, had rolled his eyes and ordered the demons back in position._ _

__“Still got a bit of spirit in you, I see. If you give me too much trouble, I’ll just take it out on your spawn. I‘m sure it won‘t miss a tentacle or two.”_ _

__The fight had immediately gone out of Castiel._ _

__“Don’t worry, darling,” Crowley had said. “I won‘t cut off anything you can‘t live without. I just can‘t have you getting any ideas about escape.” He’d selected a filet knife and examined its razor-sharp, gleaming length, smirked at Castiel, and had proceeded to demonstrate the skills that had earned him the position as King of Hell._ _

__He’d plucked Castiel’s primaries and most of his secondaries._ _

__‘Plucked’ had been Crowley’s word, really. ‘Flayed’ would have been more accurate. Now, the ends of his wings are maimed things of ragged, bleeding skin that won’t be healing any time soon. This hasn’t just left him grounded; the eyes adorning those feathers hadn’t had the chance to migrate to his coverts, so he’s partially blinded, as well. And yet, as he stares at the raw flesh that had once held his ragged feathers, all he can think is that Danielle’s favorite suck toys are gone._ _

__Unfurling his second set of wings is out of the question; they’d scorch the very air around them, and Danielle would die in the resulting conflagration. Along with half the population of Kansas._ _

__It makes escape seem even more impossible, but humans have a saying: where there’s a will, there’s a way. And Castiel has never wanted anything more than he has wanted to escape with Danielle._ _

__There’s a scuffling sound at the door that Castiel recognizes as the hellhound prancing excitedly. Low murmurs praise the creature, and then comes the sound of the bolt being thrown and the groan of the door opening._ _

__“Dinner time,” Crowley sing-songs._ _

__Castiel abruptly sits up, unable to contain his eagerness._ _

__He’s going to see his daughter._ _

__He pulls his maimed wings tight to his back, face stony so Crowley doesn’t realize just how much they actually hurt._ _

__Crowley hadn’t lied about needing to keep Danielle healthy. Several times a day, Castiel is escorted down to the basement, where Danielle is being held, and he’s permitted to see to her needs. Once he’s enclosed within a circle of holy fire, he can hold his daughter, letting her syphon off his Grace. He’d even convinced Crowley to provide formula (which he always tastes first, to make sure it’s untainted), so all of the Nephil’s hungers are sated._ _

__Feeding time is what makes his imprisonment tolerable. For a few minutes, he can be with Danielle. He can hold her in his arms, wrap his wings around them, and pretend they’re back home._ _

__It’s why Castiel follows Crowley docilely through the labyrinth of ill-lit stone hallways, with only the hellhound at his heels to ensure his good behavior. Until he can make his escape, he’s going to be a model prisoner as long as he can have these moments with his daughter._ _

__“We’re going to have company today,” Crowley says. They’re crossing the open foyer that had once been the hospital’s reception area to the staircase that leads down to the basement, and Crowley pauses. “My business partner wants to inspect the goods before finalizing our contract. So be on your best behavior, Castiel.”_ _

__Castiel has his suspicions about who Crowley’s new ‘partner’ is. Crowley knows far too much about Nephilim than a demon should, which suggests he’s been in contact with an angel. And Castiel can think of only one angel who would be desperate enough to ally with a demon._ _

__He really, really hopes he’s wrong._ _

__Abruptly, where before there had only been empty space, there’s a presence: immense, powerful, terrifying. And familiar._ _

__“Hello, Castiel,” a woman’s voice says silkily._ _

__He’s not wrong._ _

__“Raphael,” Castiel breaths, shrinking away from the archangel. Even though he’d been expecting this, he’s unprepared for the terror he feels just being in the archangel’s presence. Seeing his fear, Raphael smirks._ _

__This explains how Balthazar had been evicted from his vessel; it had been Raphael’s work._ _

__Castiel wonders if Balthazar is even still alive._ _

__“Your little rebellion’s not doing so well without you,” Raphael says, picking up on Castiel’s thoughts. “Losing two leaders in such a short time is very demoralizing.”_ _

__“And how is your army, Raphael? I had heard that they were abandoning you and that you were in disgrace,” Castiel tosses back._ _

__There’s no change in the expression of Raphael’s vessel, but Castiel can see the other’s wings flare out aggressively. “It doesn’t matter,” Raphael says tightly. “Once the Apocalypse runs its course, we will all be united in purpose again. All sins will be forgiven, and as the only archangel, the Host will again turn to me for leadership.”_ _

__Unfortunately, he’s right; the Host craves guidance and authority. They will flock to him, forgetting their hard-learned lessons in Free Will and once again becoming obedient soldiers._ _

__Castiel just sets his jaw and turns away, refusing to give Raphael the satisfaction of seeing just how hopeless he feels right now. Raphael’s expression is triumphant as he turns to Crowley. “You’re right; not much fight left in him, is there?” Castiel bristles and clenches his fists and reminds himself that his rage will only get him killed. So he struggles to let go of his anger._ _

__But not all of it. Anger is better than his crippling fear of Raphael._ _

__Castiel trails behind, seething inwardly that Raphael is so confident in Castiel’s weakness that he’s leaving his back unguarded. It’s even more galling that he’s right, that Castiel is unable to act._ _

__Danielle is being held in the basement in a tiny cage branded with Enochian bindings, surrounded by a ring of holy fire. Seeing his daughter cowering behind the bars, tentacles curled protectively around herself and eyes squeezed shut makes Castiel ache. She’s his child, he should be able to protect her, but he can’t even help himself._ _

__The demon guarding Danielle’s cage sets a makeshift bridge over the line of holy fire, enabling Raphael and Castiel to cross without having to douse the flames. Crowley crosses first to show that this isn’t a trap and the bridge won’t be withdrawn as soon as Raphael crosses. Castiel hates the bridge; he can feel the flame beneath his feet, hungering for his Grace. Even Raphael hastens across on his toes to minimize contact. The guard demon follows last, shadowing Castiel._ _

__It’s a tight fit inside the circle, what with the four of them and the cage, and if Castiel had still had his primaries, they would have been singed off from proximity to the flame._ _

__Raphael bends down to study Danielle. The Nephil had roused at the sight of Castiel, but Raphael’s looming presence had her cringing against the rear wall of the cage, quaking in terror. Raphael’s lips twist with disgust. “It’s not what I was expecting,” he says._ _

__“Not like the Nephilim of old,” Crowley agrees. “Strength and beauty, without pesky human emotions to complicate matters - those Grigori knew how to breed them.”_ _

__Raphael’s lips tighten at the implied comparison to the Grigori. “I’d never made one before,” Raphael says. “And you’ll agree that the source material is… inferior. But its appearance is unimportant, so long as its powers develop normally.” Raphael’s gaze falls on the bottle the guard demon is holding out to Castiel. “Does it really need Castiel?”_ _

__“He is a real pain in the ass to keep around, isn’t he? But, unfortunately, if the thing isn’t fed every few hours, it weakens considerably,” Crowley explains. Castiel shudders, remembering how Danielle had looked when they’d finally given in and brought him to her. “It’s refused everything else we’ve offered it. Unless you can find another Grace wet nurse, it’s completely reliant upon Castiel. On the plus side, it keeps him docile.”_ _

__“Pity.” Raphael turns to Castiel. “I was looking forward to your public execution. Well… I’ll just have to find other ways you can amuse me before I can finally be rid of you.” His vicious smile makes Castiel shudder._ _

__He steps away from the cage and back over the bridge, Crowley behind him. Once clear, Crowley kicks the bridge away, letting the holy fire flare up again. Now that the trap is secure, the demon guarding the cage unlocks it and gestures Castiel forward. Castiel holds out his arms, and Danielle undulates forward with a desperate cry. Castiel holds her tucked against one elbow, holding a bottle to her mouth as she frantically sucks it down. She’s just as greedily tearing away at his Grace, oblivious to the pain she’s causing him. Castiel doesn’t care; his time with her is so short, she needs to take in as much as she can as quickly as she can._ _

__Castiel wants to focus his entire being on Danielle, but with Raphael here, he needs to stay aware. Something might slip out, something he can use._ _

__“Satisfied?” Crowley asks._ _

__Raphael nods. “When will I be able to take it?”_ _

__“It’s all yours after we’ve performed the ritual and split the souls, of course,” Crowley says smoothly. “Though why you’d want such a revolting little thing…” Crowley gives an exaggerated shudder, watching Castiel out of the corner of his eye. Castiel sets his jaw, determined not to rise to the bait._ _

__“Why _do_ you want her?” Castiel blurts out before he can stop himself. He’s surprised by his daring, when all he wants is to keep a low profile, make Raphael forget his presence._ _

__“Thought it would make a nice pet,” Raphael says sweetly. At Castiel’s scowl, he frowns. “It’s none of your concern, Castiel. The Nephil was always meant to be mine - you were just the means to create it.”_ _

__“She’s _my daughter,_ ” Castiel snarls._ _

__“An abomination,” Raphael counters. “Why should it matter to you what I have planned for it? You won’t be around to see.”_ _

__“Because I love her -” Castiel breaks off as it sinks in what he’d just said. Love. He’d said he’d _loved_ her, when before he’d only have defined his feelings as an attachment. Castiel looks down in amazement at the tiny being in his arms, wondering how it had happened. Angels didn’t feel love like this towards anyone but their Father._ _

__Danielle, seemingly oblivious of Castiel’s life-changing realization, continues to feed, though her grip on Castiel’s trench coat tightens infinitesimally. He feels the soft pulse of affection from the Nephil, a response to spike in his feelings. She’d known well before he did how he feels._ _

__And if he loves her - the kind of love he’d believed he was incapable of feeling towards anyone but his Father - then what else was he capable of? What other feelings had he misidentified?_ _

__Who else could he love?_ _

__He’d known Dean believed Castiel loved Danielle in the way a human parent loved a child, but he’d thought Dean was simply anthropomorphizing Castiel, something he’s done all too often simply because Castiel appears human shaped._ _

__It’s a bit galling, and humbling, that Dean knows Castiel better than he knows himself._ _

__He wishes Dean were here to share his revelation with, rather than the people most likely to use it against him._ _

__“You… love it,” Raphael repeats slowly._ _

__Castiel’s jaw tightens, but he refuses to be shamed. He meets Raphael’s horrified gaze unflinchingly._ _

__“You really feel that way, don’t you?” Raphael breathes, appalled._ _

__There’s no denying it, so Castiel remains silent._ _

__“You _bonded_ with it,” Raphael says contemptuously. “You care for it. I knew you wouldn‘t have the courage to kill it, but I didn‘t think that even you could fall so far as to love it.”_ _

__Sudden fear grips Castiel as a thought occurs to him. “Did you do something to me, to make me care for her?” What if his feelings for Danielle aren’t real? Danielle whimpers in distress, and he automatically pulls her closer._ _

__“No, Castiel. Your… _affection_ for this abomination is entirely your own doing. See what emotions get you, Castiel? You’re bound to this creature, and it has made you _weak._ What happened to that soldier who stormed Hell, who fought his way to the Pit after his brothers and sisters had all failed?” _ _

__Raphael is trying to shame Castiel, but he only feels relief. His feelings for Danielle are entirely his own. Raphael cocks his head, confused by Castiel’s reaction, but doesn’t comment further._ _

__“Time’s up,” Crowley says, and Castiel’s heart sinks. He hates this part, hates that Crowley makes him the one who returns Danielle to her cage. He removes the mostly empty bottle and sets it aside, then pulls her close and plants a kiss atop her head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and gently places her back in the cage. “I _do_ love you,” he tells her fiercely. Her tentacles tighten around his wrist before she releases him and crawls to the back of her cage. It kills him that she already accepts that he has to leave her behind._ _

__Castiel turns away slowly, wings drooping, mentally gearing himself for what comes next. A moment later, Danielle begins whimpering, working her way up to heart-wrenching wails._ _

__Castiel closes his ears to Danielle’s cries. He aches to go to her and break her free from her cage, but he can’t. Not yet. So he keeps his back to her and walks away, and it’s harder than when he’d abandoned Heaven for Dean, harder than when he’d been forced to kill his brothers and sisters, harder than deceiving Dean over the past year. If they get out of this, he’s never letting her go again._ _

__Once again, Castiel trails in the wake of his captors, though to his surprise, they don’t lead him back to his cell. Instead, they head to one of the empty operating theaters, one with an empty wrought-iron frame that had once been a skylight. Castiel tips his head back and finds the moon peeking over the edge of the frame. It’s supposed to be full, but there’s a sliver missing from the edge._ _

__It’s the night of the eclipse. The ritual is going down tonight._ _

__Raphael follows his gaze. “We still have half an hour before the height of the eclipse,” he says to Crowley. He unfurls his wings, stretching them to their fullest. “I will return shortly. I still have soldiers loyal to me. I believe it would be beneficial to have reinforcements on site in case of outside interference.”_ _

__With a snap of wings, Raphael is gone._ _

__“’Reinforcements,’” Crowley mimics, glowering at the spot where the archangel had stood. “Bringing your army here for a coup, more like.” Then he shrugs. “Bring however many angels you want here, sweetheart. It’ll just save me the trouble of hunting them all down when I have all the souls in Purgatory at my command.”_ _

__“So you do plan to betray him,” Castiel says. He wonders how; Raphael’s going to be on guard against treachery, and the moment he senses something wrong, he can destroy Crowley and every other demon in the building with a snap of his fingers._ _

__“Aren‘t you the clever one,” Crowley snorts contemptuously. “Don’t worry; when I win, I won’t kill you or your offspring immediately. Raphael seems to have created it for a specific purpose, and I’d like to know what.”_ _

__“To destroy me,” Castiel says, uneasy. Crowley doesn’t need to know that Nephilim can kill angels._ _

__“Heaven doesn’t revolve around you, darling,” Crowley says. “Raphael has something else in mind for it - something that an upgrade from the Purgatory souls can’t accomplish.”_ _

__That hadn‘t occurred to Castiel. Balthazar had said that Nephilim were powerful, yes, but moreso than an archangel armed with millions of monster souls and an entire Heavenly Host to command? No._ _

__Crowley suddenly tenses, head tilting to listen as something peals against his awareness. Castiel hears it as well and identifies the sound: something has tripped Crowley’s proximity wards._ _

__“That‘s annoying,” Crowley says, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “Not unexpected, but obnoxious nonetheless. Watch him,” he commands to the remaining guard demon. “If he so much as twitches a feather, use this. Maim, don‘t kill.” He passes over an angel blade - Castiel’s blade - then vanishes._ _

__Castiel tenses, wondering if this is the moment he’s been waiting for. But the guard is too alert, too ready to use the blade in his hand, and Castiel doesn’t need another wound to further slow him. He needs to find a way to distract the guard, give himself a split-second in which to strike._ _

__The operating theater is mostly empty, but there’s a shelf of rusted tools that has some potential. It wouldn’t take much power to telekinetically knock one to the floor. But before he can reach out and mentally grab the nearest implement, his eyes fall on the spell parchment laying open on the table, pinned in place by the bottle of blood. From where he’s standing, he can make most of it out. Castiel cranes his neck towards it and, when his guard demon responds only with a bored glance, continues to tilt his head until he can see the entire parchment, and begins to read._ _

__The ritual actually consists of two spells: one to open Purgatory, and another to draw the souls into the nearest container._ _

__There’s something odd about the second spell’s phrasing, and it takes Castiel a moment to parse through the ancient dialect to understand what he’s reading._ _

__So that’s why Crowley had allied himself with Raphael - and with Castiel; only an angel could contain the souls of Purgatory. It had seemed to be a rather risky bargain for Crowley to make, since there was no guarantee the participating angel would honor his agreement (Castiel certainly hadn’t had any intention to allow the demon to have any souls), except Crowley had found the loophole: an angel may _contain_ the souls, but only the one who _summoned_ them could wield them. As long as Crowley was the one to actually perform the ritual, he’d be the one in control of the souls._ _

__There’s the sound of running footsteps echoing down the stone corridors outside. Castiel’s guard demon peers out the door and demands to know what’s going on. Castiel tilts his head to catch the reply, and stills when he realizes what’s happening. Raphael’s angels aren’t the only attackers._ _

__Something has breached the perimeter and is fighting its way in, and Castiel can think of only one being - or group of beings - foolish enough to take on the combined might of an angel and demon army._ _

__Dean’s _here_. He’s come for Castiel and Danielle… and he’s going to find a combined army of demons and angels waiting for him. Even with Sam and Bobby at his back, he has no chance. Castiel has to do something, or it will be a massacre._ _

___Now_. Now is the time to use his carefully hoarded strength and make his move. It’s his only chance to strike, and he has to make it count._ _

__Castiel may not have the juice to take on multiple foes, but one over-confident demon paying more attention to what was happening outside than to Castiel? He barely has time to do more than flinch before Castiel burns out the demon, and the corpse falls to the floor. The cost to Castiel is high, however, and he pitches forward, depleted. Only thoughts of Danielle, and what he must do to protect her, give him the strength to regain his feet and stagger forward._ _

__Raphael needs to be taken out, once and for all. This needs to end now, before Raphael can call reinforcements, or retreat to fight another day._ _

__Raphael has to die, and Castiel is the only one who has the means to take him down. And the weapon he needs to do so is right here. Castiel is gifted with a photographic recall; the brief glimpse had been enough for him to commit the spell to memory._ _

__Castiel reaches for the untended bottle of blood._ _

__

__~tbc~_ _

__

__I know I mentioned earlier in the story that angels tend to use the genders of their vessels, but Raphael was referred to as male even when in a female vessel. So I’ve decided that Raphael is one of the few angels who is predominately male and thus prefers to be referred to as such. Not that this is important information, but it wasn’t something I could casually mention in the story, and I didn’t want anyone to point it out as a plot hole._ _

__Again, my apologies for not being the swiftest writer out there. My life is a mess right now, and sometimes it’s hard to find the motivation to do anything. If you have any interest in my life at all, or if you want to send me a little encouragement, feel free to friend me at one of my accounts! Part of my problem is that I just don’t have enough support in my life. Links to my LiveJournal, Tumblr, Twitter, and Dreamwidth can be found in my bio._ _


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